Franz Kafka's Girlfriend
by AmeliaFaulks
Summary: In a world where Superman has no memory erasing powers, Lois and Clark try to deal with the facts of their ridiculously complicated relationship the best way they know how...so not all that well, then.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: **At the end of Superman II, I sometimes wonder about what it would've been like to just allow Lois her heartbreak. This story is about that alternative scenario, but takes place within the Returns universe. It started out intended as a short one-shot but, as is the way of things, has kind of taken on a life of its own. I hope you enjoy it.

**Disclaimer: **No comic book characters were financially exploited during the making of this story.

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**Franz Kafka's Girlfriend**

**-Prologue-**

**The Present Day.**

click.

'_-added to the practice squad as soon as contract negotiations have ended. And now, over to Rita with the Five Day Forecast.'_

'_Thanks, Bill!'_

click.

'_...two elderly women are at a Catskill mountain resort, and one of 'em says'_

click.

'_I ain't gettin' on no plane!'_

click.

With her good arm aimed at the set, Lois Lane flicked through television channels employing the well-practised, metronomic technique of one who is bored easily. She pressed another five or six more times in rhythmic succession before arriving on a news station. A reflex response to a red-and-blue blur dashing across the screen caused her finger to halt over the plus button. She tuned her ears to the commentary;

'_...where a twenty-thousand ton oil tanker had capsized. This video, sent in by eyewitnesses yesterday evening, shows the Man of Steel apparently _freezing_ the slick with what Superman experts term 'Super-breath'...'_

The amateur footage cut away back to the studio, and a stock photograph of Superman's face appeared behind the shoulder of the news anchor as she continued the report. The photograph was old. From before. Lois allowed herself the small pleasure of lingering on the image, and justified it by telling herself it was for medicinal purposes only.

'_The causes of the...'_

click.

She let her arm flop to the bed and the screen crackled into silence.

In her head, she imitated the report; '...what Superman experts term 'Super-breath_'_.

It remained a source of fascination to her, the way other people talked about him. Were forced to talk about him. That desire to name his behavior, to codify his abilities, to deconstruct some of his more complicated acts of rescue the way pundits might review a particularly significant sports play. All in an effort, she supposed, to offer up some kind of understanding, however superficial, of who this man was, and why he did the things he did; to contextualize the impossibility of what one was seeing with one's own eyes, to contextualize the impossibility of his _very_ _existence. _

When news items used terms like 'X Ray vision', and 'Heat vision', and 'Superspeed', it amused her because she thought it often made his extraordinary abilities sound like they had been categorised only after some kind of rigorous medical process; that their etymology was probably rooted in the standardised testing procedures of the Scientific community. The truth was far more prosaic- almost all the Superman terminology in general usage could be attributed back to her.

Well, not just her. One evening, early on, back when she didn't know, they decided it would be hilarious to try and come up with the most ridiculous-sounding names for his powers that they thought they could get away with in print. 'Superbreath'. She remembered that he'd begged, _begged_ her to call it; 'Special Spittle'. 'Superman Saves Day With Special Spittle!' The man must have been drunk. She told him that was a disgusting turn of phrase, that it was a good job he didn't have to write headlines for a living, and that as the professional, it would probably be prudent for her to have final say on all nomenclature pertaining to him.

And she also remembered adding that in future he could keep his Special Spittle to himself. Then they'd let the innuendo wash over and around them, and just revelled in the highly charged after-moment of mutual attraction.

That was a lifetime ago. She sighed deeply. Her ribcage ached.

Deciding to call an end to a pretty shitty day, she reached to switch off her overhead lamp. The movement of her arm caused her to knock the television remote to the floor where it bounced and clattered against the hard surface; the force of impact clacking the screen back into life. She was so tired, for a second she considered just laying back and drifting off to sleep, leaving the television on as background noise.

_'...go to Channel Ten News dot com. __Coming up next, you've joined us right in time for our late-night adult movie premiere; '_Orgy_ on Precinct 13.'_

Or maybe not.

Carefully, she manoeuvred to the edge of the bed and then lowered herself so she ended up dangling over the side.

The offending item lay about an arm's length away, right underneath her, so she shifted further forward. The cumulative effect of the effort to hold herself in this position, acting in combination with the force of gravity, caused her loose-fitting pyjama top to ride, in a most improper fashion, incrementally up her back, and the hair from her bun to fall across her face. Blowing wayward tendrils of fringe back out of her eyes, she reached for the remote.

Even from this improved angle, she still couldn't quite make the distance so she leaned further and gained the last two inches by outstretching her fingers. Having managed to get a decent enough grip on the awkward slab of plastic, and thus achieved a memorable victory, she was retracting her arm when movement out of the corner of her eye made her stop short.

Two upside down shoes had appeared in the doorway.

She brought her hand back from where it was suspended- holding the controller mid-air under the bed, and levered herself into a normal, upright position. The shoes, and the rest of the body belonging to them, were now the correct way up.

Sitting back in the messed up sheets, she could feel wisps of hair settling back at odd angles on her head, and a slight draft against the bare skin of her stomach told her that the pyjama top had not successfully ridden all the way back down. It was _so typical_ of him to show up at the most inopportune of moments.

Painfully aware of the sound of her own heavy breathing, but with as much nonchalance as she could muster, she shifted her shoulders to try and untuck the unfortunately-hitched fold of pyjama so that she at least was no longer flashing her entire midriff at him. Demurely, she tucked an escaping curl of hair behind her ear. The curl popped straight back over her face, and she left it, as if that was precisely what she had intended it to do all along. Still, it all rather undermined the sense of poise she had at that moment wanted to convey. He didn't move.

_'Uh, uh, uh, oh yeah, baby...oh yeah! Harder! Uh, uh, uh!'_

Oh God; the television. Blushing violently, she fumbled with the remote, all clammy fingers and thumbs. This time, as the set crackled off, she felt the static electricity raise the small hairs on the back of her neck. The room settled into silence, but the air between them felt loaded with the unspoken words and conversations they'd spent so long running away from.

She resisted a powerful urge to say something that let him know how good it was to see him, how much she missed him, how much better she felt right now, purely for the fact that they were sharing the same room-space. She wanted to cry out, just to try and vocalise what the nearness of him did to her heart. And she also wanted him to know how angry she still was at him, despite all the time that had passed since they had last seen each other.

But experience told her she should settle for something else, something safe. She kept her voice light,

"Well, this is highly embarrassing. The _one_ time I leave the house without any mascara on."

Obscured by shadow, she couldn't yet make out his face, but she knew his eyes were all over her body, she _felt_ them, taking in everything, every detail; the bandage on her right wrist, the set of butterfly stitches running across her hairline, the tips of the toes on her left foot- only just visible, peeking out of a cast. The fact that she was lying before him in a hospital bed at all. Probably, she supposed, no, _she knew_; his worst nightmare. Her instinct, crazily, was to try and offer comfort _to him, _even though she was the one on a cocktail of painkillers.

She squinted at him, "It's not as bad as it looks."

He finally moved forward into the light and as he did so, he removed his glasses. In and of itself, this was a perfectly harmless action. The trouble was, and no matter how many times she had seen him do it, it was a gesture that had always tended to illicit an involuntary shiver of pleasure right down her spine.

The intervening time apart had not dulled this response, and she found that her body's reaction to him was only exacerbated by the overall effect of his appearance. He was wearing a tuxedo, and his bow tie hung, rakish and undone, under an open collar. He looked dashing, like James Bond, and it irritated Lois beyond belief because the sight made her pulse quicken and only served to demonstrate that it was still all too easy for him to reduce her to a swooning school girl- by doing nothing more than stand there.

There was almost no recent, good, footage of him available anywhere, so, up this close, she scrutinised his face; wanting to see what was different, what was the same. Whether her memory held up to reality. His hair was a little longer, and although she knew he didn't tan easily, she could swear a climate of sunshine had left faint lines where he wore his glasses. And was it her imagination, or were those freckles?

He looked more tired than she ever remembered, but she certainly recognised the particular expression that now darkened his face. Intense, concerned, eyes burning with repressed emotion; the one reserved for just one person. God, he was hot when he looked slightly pissed with her.

"I thought I told you to be more careful?"

His voice was deep and measured and he began moving toward her but he checked his step before reaching the empty bedside chair. For a long moment he looked at it and seemed unsure what to do next. He wavered before evidently coming to some kind of internal decision. Pulling the back of the chair level to where he had stopped, he delicately folded himself into it, keeping his distance from the bed. From her.

Clearing her throat, she looked at her knees. "How did you know?"

"Jimmy called."

She nodded, almost imperceptibly, and there was warmth in her voice, "I must've hit my head harder than I thought," she frowned in mock puzzlement; "I'm pretty sure I asked him not to tell anyone."

He responded softly, "You mean you asked him not to tell me?"

She looked off to one side with a half-smile, "Man; a car accident. If I'd known that was all it was going to take to get you back here," her eyes flicked back to him and she feigned an air of wistfulness, "I would've got my Audi totalled two years ago."

He fixed her with that familiar look of recrimination, "This isn't funny, Lois."

Although it officially annoyed her that he still obviously felt he had the nerve or the right to be angry at her over _anything_, even as she could feel the heat of indignation welling inside, somewhere, in a deep recess of the brain, something noted how much she had missed that look.

He was shaking his head at her, "You scared the hell out of me."

Looking him straight in the eye, she defiantly matched the seriousness of his expression before pointedly raising her eyes to the top of his head and then lowering them back to fix them on his face again,

In a cool tone, she told him levelly, "I'm fine. And you need a haircut."


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: Thanks for reading, guys! Hope you enjoy.**

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**  
**

**Three years earlier... **

He whispered her name against the skin of her shoulder, offering it up as if in supplication, before slowly, deliberately, kissing his way back along the curve of her neck and jaw line to find her mouth again. Her teeth tugged his bottom lip as he pulled back and held himself above her. He watched her face as she ran her hands proprietorially up his arms, and over and across the defined ridges and planes of his back and shoulders.

It was hardly conceivable, she thought, that a man capable of almost infinite power could, at the same time, touch her with such gentle grace. He dipped his head back to her, and she reached for him and they met in the middle, their lips and noses rubbing together as she lazily folded her arms around his neck.

She felt him smile against the corner of her mouth as she failed to suppress a moan when he hooked her leg over his hip bone and dragged his fingertips down the outside of her thigh.

"Oh, God, Clark."

Her body arched to increase the pressure between them and the sensation of his bare chest against the sensitive skin of her own made her ache with desire. Gently pressing her back to the bed, he laid her arms up above her head and covered them there with his own before capturing her mouth in a kiss that made her toes curl.

Her only coherent thought then, was that this, this, _right now_. They were meant to do this. This is what they were put here for...surely...

but...

what the hell was that noise...?

With a start, Lois woke up. Her breathing was ragged, and sweat had plastered strands of hair against her face. The alarm was bleeping; 5:00 am. She leaned across to hit it off, and left her hand there, just taking time to compose herself. Jesus, _she had to get a grip_; the dreams were getting worse.

She flopped her forearm back against her head and spoke into the darkness on two exhalations of breath. "That's it. No more dairy before bed for you."

-----

Out on the street, it was a crisp, Spring morning. She left the subway a block early so that she could walk to work with a cup of coffee held to her face and enjoy the particular sensory pleasure of its heat on her lips and nose in contrast to the dawn chill in the air.

There was something about being in the city at this kind of time that agreed with her these days. Sounds were muted, colors were paler, people were scarce, and the idea that she and the hours ahead were tuning up for the daily grind together appealed to her. The low ebb of the early morning seemed to match her mood. Lately, she preferred its solitude.

Of course, her recent habit of getting into work early was more than just a pandering to a perceived romantic confluence of nature and circumstance. There was a practical aspect to it, too.

Over the last few weeks she had noticed an unspoken, but definite, effort, on his part, to unsynchronise the routine of their previous lives. Before, they had often spent lunch hours at each other's desks; sometimes haggling over whose turn it was to attend the Deputy-Mayor's bimonthly press conference ("The man is a human soporific. I think he should market himself as an Insomnia cure-all."

"I _know_. I swear Clark, I walk out of his briefings and I can feel that I've_ aged_"), or occasionally debating the merits of the latest judicial ruling in Washington ("Yes, but Lois, once you've voluntarily provided that information outside of the news gathering process, you've forfeited your right to the protection of reporter privilege."

"So what you're actually saying is there's no room for civic responsibility, anymore?"

"Civic responsibility? I'm saying you can't be _selective_ in what you choose to be responsible about"), or, more frequently, they argued over weightier issues. Like establishing the correct version of hard-to-make-out song lyrics; he was surprisingly good on pop music, but she prided herself on the encyclopaedic extent of her cartoon-tune infallibility ("I _think _you'll find it's; 'Stop the Pigeon, Stop the Pigeon, Stop the Pigeon, Stop the Pigeon, Stop the Pigeon, Stop the Pigeon, Stop the Pigeon. Ow. Nab him, jab him, dab him, grab him. Stop that Pigeon. Now."

"Oh, Clark. You're so cute when you're so entirely wrong; it's not nab, jab, dab, grab. It's nab, jab, _tab_, grab. Don't take me on with Hanna-Barbera and expect to win, okay? I thought you would've learnt your lesson after the Scooby Doo theme song debacle."

"Okay, there are_ five__ different_ versions").

And if a deadline was tight, they always bookended their day by working late together. On those nights, they didn't talk much. They just quietly got on with work, tapping at their keyboards, content to be in each other's company. She had never really realised how much those times meant to her. No, it was worse than that; she had taken them completely for granted.

Things were different now. At lunch times, and when she was on breaks, he was nowhere to be seen. And when he was in the office, he was assiduous in his efforts to avoid her. On the occasions when he couldn't manage that- when work required that they had to come into some kind of professional contact, he had developed a strategy which basically consisted of shoving the relevant items of business at her, then running away and expecting her to automatically comprehend their meaning, either, she supposed, through her hitherto unbeknownst powers of telepathy, or some other form of divination.

And it _bothered_ Lois.

It bothered her that he felt it necessary to coddle her in this way at all. What did he imagine she was going to do? Fall apart in despair if he so much as looked at her? Break down and cause a scene over the watercooler if he said 'Hi'? Maybe he was afraid she was suddenly going to just snap, and, in the hysterical throes of an emotional breakdown, take to wearing a hooded cloak, wandering the desks at night, railing 'Heathcliff' after him whilst brandishing his unreturned stapler.

She was tired of pretending nothing had happened. Tired of trying to brush it all under the carpet. It might be preferable to have an _actual conversation_ about the state of their relationship. With words and sentences, and other novel concepts like that. If she could just corner him before everyone else arrived, she could at least begin to wrestle back some control over whatever direction this was all heading. And so, in the face of his reticence, she'd been making an effort to beat him into work. The difficulty of the enterprise lay in the fact that Clark seemed to have the same idea, but for the opposite of reasons.

Miserably, she guessed he was trying to dodge the possibility of running into her on the way in as he sometimes used to. As Lois carefully mounted the steps up to the Planet's lobby and waved a 'Good morning' in the direction of one of the hard-hatted structural engineers still milling around the building, the thought struck her; My God. This is what her life had come to- she was _nostalgic _for the times when she used to start her day getting trapped in a set of revolving doors.

In any case, so far, things weren't exactly going to plan for either of them. For the past week they had been locked in a strange game of early-bird brinksmanship which involved her stepping out onto the newsroom floor, certain she had arrived in time to intercept him and force him into conversation, only to find his computer already running and his chair empty as he had seen her coming and made a swift exit yet again. In truth, the only tangible result of her efforts was that she was waking up progressively earlier, and getting less and less sleep.

So, after having clacked across the marble floor and stepped into a waiting elevator, it was with a certain amount of surprise that on this particular Friday morning, she saw that she _had _in fact arrived before Clark. She knew this because she was stood waiting for the doors to slide together and through the gap she could see that he was heading straight toward her.

His head was down and he obviously hadn't seen her because it wasn't until they were practically face to face that he finally glanced up and their eyes met.

"Oh!" he managed, and immediately started backing away. "Hi, um..."

Lois saw the fear in his eyes and imagined she could see his inner thoughts scrolling past like a digital display: 'AWKWARD...! AWKWARD...! AWKWARD...!'

"...I um...wasn't expecting to see..." he trailed off before shrugging offhandedly, "It's fine; I'll wait for the next one."

The reasonable part of her knew his skittishness was understandable given the last occasion they'd been this close for a sustained amount of time they had been naked, and she had been licking his face. But Lois had totally had enough. It was time to be adults. She leaned to press the button for hold.

"Clark, get in the elevator."

"No, it's okay! Honestly. I can wait." After a moment of stillness he frantically started pressing the buttons on his panel and the doors slid to.

Oh, this was stupid. Again Lois lent forward and pressed 'Open'. The doors separated.

"Clark." She lifted her thumb. "C'mon. Get in the elevator."

He was still working the control panel with his finger. "It's fine, look, I already called one. It's here now."

The doors closed shut. This time about thirty seconds went by as she went up a storey, came back down a storey, and had to wait patiently for the doors to open again. He was still stood there, tapping his foot on the floor so nervously she could swear he was leaving a dint. The other car had not arrived. He looked sheepish.

There was an edge to Lois's tone now. "Please will you _get._ In. The elevator."

"No, honestly," He was watching the arrow move on the floor indicator above her, "this time it's really here."

"Get in the elevator."

"Lois, I don't mind, really."

"Get in the elevator."

"Maybe I'll just take the stairs."

"Get in the elevator."

"I could do with the exercise."

Slamming her hand hard against the control panel, she erupted, "_Will you just get your goddamn chicken shit ass in this GODDAMN elevator_!"

Clark winced as her voice rang loudly and clearly around the wide open space of the lobby. Over by the reception area, the man in the hard hat was taking measurements with a surveying tripod. He immediately stopped what he was doing and hurried over to obey her instruction.

Only Lois's raised hands prevented him from following Clark all the way in and standing between them.

"Oh, notchoo!"

He threw Clark a 'Good luck, pal' expression before Lois pushed him back out.

There was a pause while she waited for the doors to close for the final time. She and Clark were alone. Taking a calming breath, she tried very hard to pretend she wasn't utterly infuriated by him.

"I wish you'd stop treating me like I'm made of glass; it's driving me crazy." She hitched the strap of her purse from where it had slipped off her shoulder. "I can handle being in the same room as you."

An uneasy silence followed. She heard him shift on his feet, and then he spoke, his voice was low and soft. "What about yesterday?"

"What _about_ yesterday?" she shot back, a little too sharply.

"I left you an orange juice, and you started to cry."

"That...I ...wasn't crying."

He coughed to clear his throat, "I thought I saw you...uh...wiping your eyes and your nose was all ...snotty."

She pointed her chin in defiance, "That... was my allergies."

"Your allergies?"

"_Yes_."

"You don't have any allergies."

"Well, guess what? I do now."

Clark frowned, "To orange juice?"

She rolled her eyes.

"No." Half turning to him, she said flatly, "Not orange juice."

He wasn't looking at her. "Allergies? You have the constitution of an ox. I think your lungs are made of asbestos. What could you possibly be allergic to?"

She lowered her coffee cup from where it had been making its way to her mouth and tried catching his eye to glare at him meaningfully. But Lois saw that he just looked genuinely concerned about her recently developed symptoms to the health problems she'd just made up. She tried again;

"You know. _Things_."

"What things?"

He was still maddeningly fixating on her non-existent medical issues because he was quite possibly the most naive man she'd ever met in her entire life and she lost her composure,

"Would you just...! Things, Clark! _Things_! Things, like," she flapped her available arm in the air, "having my heart shattered into several thousand teeny, tiny pieces, one piece at a time! Things like, avoiding walking to the grocery store on saturday afternoons because I always see that old couple sat outside holding hands, and they look at me like, 'Don't worry, honey- you'll find someone' and I want to throw my recently purchased canned goods at them! Things like, you being _completely oblivious_ to how it makes me feel when you bring me orange juice but refuse to look me in the eye _Jesus Christ_ what do you want from me?"

Clark's mouth opened and closed without sound. He knew he'd opened the flood gates. She caught her breath,

"I'm trying my best to cling on to my last shred of dignity, okay? And at least maintain the illusion of some kind of semblance of a hold on my pride and self-respect over here, when the truth is, all I _really_ want to do, right now, is get down on my hands and knees and _beg_ you to take me in your arms and never let me go."

He looked at his shoes.

"So will you please just _give me a break_?"

He didn't know what to say. That was exactly what he had spent the last few weeks trying to do. And she knew it. The elevator dinged and he followed her out into the newsroom. Embarrassed, and annoyed with herself for her outburst, she sighed deeply and forced conviction back into her voice.

"I'm okay. I'm okay. It's just a matter of finding a balance that works. I'm...I'm in the process of finding a balance that works."

"Balance?"

"Exactly."

Having collected herself, Lois dug around in her purse trying to one-handedly locate her compact mirror and not spill any of her drink.

He hesitated, wary of upsetting her again. "Between what?"

She was busy eyeing her reflection and using her pinky to flick her fringe back into place. She explained absently,

"The competing urges I feel whenever I get within a certain distance of you. Namely;" she gestured with her mirror-hand as if it was the weight on a set of scales, "a severe compulsion to slap your Sense of Duty fetish right into a nineteenth century operetta where it belongs," then she put out her coffee-hand, "and the equally strong desire to just jump you where you stand."

"Oh." he managed, weakly. He knew he shouldn't have asked. He closed his eyes so that he would stop noticing the way her hips swung when she walked.

She shrugged and stopped at her desk before snapping the mirror closed and replacing it back in her purse, "I'm sure there must be a happy medium that straddles the two."

He sincerely wished she would stop using words like 'urges' and 'straddles' and then talk about jumping him, when discussing the finer points of their relationship. He steadied himself against his chair, taking a moment to get a grip on his own Lois fantasies.

"I'm trying not to...make things difficult."

She dropped her purse onto the work surface and turned to face him. "But that's it! That's exactly it! Things _are_ difficult. This is incredibly, incredibly difficult!" She lifted her shoulders, and implored him with her eyes.

"So can we just please deal with the difficulty? All this creeping around on egg shells makes me insane."

He found he was unable to hold her gaze. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, just..." She bit her lip, half in frustration, and half out of an attempt to stop anymore unwelcome tears pricking the back of her eyes. "...stop shutting me out. I miss you. I miss talking to you." Her throat worked. "I miss my friend."

He lifted his head to look at her. She took his breath away, she was so beautiful, but she carried an air of world-weariness now. She didn't deserve to have to mourn him like this. They shared a long look. Again, he broke it first and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"No, you don't."

At her frown, he smiled mischievously, "You miss the free flights home..."

She half-laughed and wiped at her wet eyes. "You're such a jerk."

He grinned, "Ah, now that's what I miss; all the insults."

"Oh yeah? I can make that up to you real easy, I swear."

The effortlessness with which they had slipped back into a default setting of flirty banter had them both sobering up almost immediately. That belonged to another time. The realisation made her sad again.

They were quiet. On a whisper she heard him say, "I miss you, too."

Her head jerked back up at that, but when she looked, she saw his had abruptly cocked to one side and he was staring past her.

"What is it?"

As if reading off a cue card somewhere behind her head, he said, "There's a hold-up. First National Bank on Fifty-second Street."

At first, she didn't understand what he was talking about. Then it clicked. "Right." She realised she had never witnessed this version of Clark in Superhero mode. She found it sexy. Better put that thought to the back of her mind.

She pointed to his ears, "I'm going to have to get used to that."

"I'm sorry, I have to...I better..."

She instinctively stepped out of his way, even though she had no idea whether he was going to head past her for a window or make for a more conventional route, "No, go! Go! And hey, be..."

There was a swoosh of wind back in the direction of the elevator. It blew a mouthful of hair into her face.

"...careful."

-----

Although it was the end of the day and Lois was sat alone at her desk, for once it wasn't because she was working late. About an hour ago, everyone had headed off to a local bar to start the weekend early. Perry's nephew had just joined the Planet and the floor was throwing him a welcome party. In the not unusual absence of Clark, Jimmy had insisted Lois had better come, but she told him she didn't feel like it. He had replied that she said that alot lately, and the fact that Jimmy, of all people, felt the need to pass comment on her behavior was a mark of how much it had changed. And he was right, but the truth was if she had been invited to a party yesterday, she would have gone. Maybe. 

Just not today. Today had been the first time she and Clark had spent more than two minutes together since the Fortress, and she wanted to wait for him now. The morning's elevator incident had gone some way to clearing the air between them, and they had survived the rest of the day pretty well. For the first time in a month they had actually travelled to the site of a news story together. There and back. And she was proud of herself that even sitting next to him at such close proximity, she had stayed almost entirely focused on the words coming out of the mouth of the Chief of Police. If Lois Lane was anything, she was a consummate professional.

Except. There had been one moment; in the cab, on the ride back from Police Headquarters. Struggling to listen to Perry on her cell whilst simultaneously taking notes _and_ screwing the top back on a bottle of water, she'd run out of fingers and dropped her voice recorder. As if in slow motion, they'd both reached for it. Before either of them could pull away, their hands had touched. At the contact they had looked up and found their faces so close she could feel his breath on her lips. She had watched his eyes drift to her mouth and for a second she felt sure he was going to kiss her...they were so close...it would barely take any effort at all...all they had to do was turn slightly and lean in...

Into the silence, Perry's tinny, dismembered voice had barked "_Lois! Lois! Are you there?_" and just like that the moment was gone. A look of pure determination had crossed his face and he'd handed her the recorder. They spent the rest of the journey in silence and on arriving at the office, Perry had collared her about the Monroe deposition. She hadn't seen Clark since.

She looked over at his desk. His computer was still on and his coat hung on the rack. For a brief moment she wondered where he could have possibly got to, before realising the entire futility of the exercise. He could literally be anywhere. On Earth. Right now. It was kind of mind-blowing. Sat in her chair, in a deserted office, she closed her eyes and listened carefully, wondering what it must be like to be able to discern the sound of a bank teller's hastily depressed emergency alarm against the white noise of the whole world.

All she could hear was the homogeneous hum of electrical machinery. She got up to go home and was in the middle of very seriously contemplating leaving her panties on Clark's desk with a note written in lipstick; CALL ME, just to see what he would do, when she looked up and saw him striding over to her. He was carrying something and when he reached her desk he placed a small pot of flowers in front of her.

She rested her head on her hands and looked at them. She wasn't exactly an expert, but she didn't recognise them.

"What are these?"

"Flowers."

She raised her eyes to him. He could be such a pedant.

She tried again, "What are they?"

"They're Oak-Leaved Geraniums."

"Okay. _Why_ are they?"

He took a deep breath. "I'm apologising to you, through the medium of floriography."

She recalled the last time he'd brought her flowers and nearly said, 'I think I preferred it when you were trying to get me into bed, through the medium of floriography' but thought better of it. He gestured at them.

"This particular species of geranium has a symbolic meaning that's relevant to our situation."

Without taking her eyes from the flowers, she mused, "Wow. I didn't think they sold floral arrangements for 'Hey, sorry we can't be together, but I'm a superpowered alien with an obligation to Earth.'"

He deadpanned back; "It's an incredibly niche market, but there's a stall a few blocks over that do a nice line."

She couldn't help smiling at him, "I wondered where you'd disappeared to. A stall a few blocks over, huh? I don't think I'm familiar with it."

He grinned and gestured with his head, "Just across the street."

"Just across the street" she intoned back at him as he nodded sincerely.

"Just across the street, Metropolis? Orrr, just across the street..." she flipped her free hand in the air, "...the foothills of the Andes?"

His smile was so wide, he had dimples; "The foothills of Cape Province, actually. They're native to Africa."

She leaned in to smell them. The scent was warm and aromatic. It reminded her of incense.

"So. What do they mean? Floriographically-speaking."

"Read the card."

She read out loud, "True Friendship. Always.'"

Friendship. Her heart sank even as her head was telling her this was the best either of them could hope for. She looked up at him and saw that the smile had faded from his face too. She thought back to a time, not so long ago, when the idea of anything other than friendship with Clark was a fantasy for him, and him alone. And now he was the one offering it up to her like the consolation prize that it had suddenly become.

It was so messed up.

"So, do you accept?" He was looking at her intently.

She sucked in, "The flowers, or the apology?"

He considered. "Both."

She didn't hesitate, "Yes."

He visibly relaxed. And she found that she felt better too. So they had basically just commemorated the exact moment they consigned themselves to a future of platonic heartache and misery, with _oak-leaved geraniums_ of all things, but; on the brightside. Maybe this marked an overdue end to the unbearably uncomfortable stage their relationship had been stalling in.

"Friends." She said it like she meant it and by the power of will forced a smile to her face.

He returned the gesture. "I feel like we should shake on it."

Lois lifted an eyebrow in thought. "I actually have a better idea."

-----

"I'm not sure this was such a good idea?"

Clark had to raise his voice to be heard over the thudding disco bassline. He was in the middle of a dance floor, surrounded by drunk co-workers, and feeling about as at ease as a school kid on his first day, having accidentally wandered in to the girls' changing room. Mary-Ann from Payroll had just funky-chickened provocatively past him before squeezing his right buttock. Mary-Ann was sixty-two years old, and, thought Clark worriedly, should not really be placing that kind of strain on her hip replacement.

Lois yelled back, "WHAT?"

There was nothing for it. Clark was going to have to lean in to her ear. Before he could stop himself he had breathed her in. Her hair smelled like peaches, as he remembered. Inadvertently, the tip of his nose touched the side of her face and for the most fleeting of moments they weren't stood on a crowded dance floor at all, but were three thousand miles away, lying next to each other, in his bed.

He swallowed. "I said, I'm not sure this was such a good idea?"

In the back of her mind she wasn't sure this was such a good idea either, but she just _missed_ this. Missed his company. Missed having fun with him. And by her third mojito she found she also missed any sense of what was now appropriate or acceptable behavior between them. What were they now? Friends? Friends could enjoy dancing together, right? Up this close...right?

"C'mon, after-work drinks? That's what friends do!"

As The Hues Corporation warned about not rocking the boat, Lois moved with the music and sucked at her straw.

"This is not drinks; this is dancing."

"You said we should shake on it!" In illustrating her point she turned around and shimmied her ass up against him. He bent to her ear again.

"Not exactly the kind of shake I had in mind, Lois."

His tone of voice told her he was pretty pissed off. It brought her out of her happy, tipsy place and she backed off and stopped moving.

She raised a finger off the rim of her drink, and told him, dryly, "You know, I think you really need to learn how to rock on with your bad self."

He ignored her and hissed, "There are people here" as if that explained everything.

He looked around, sensitive about drawing unnecessary attention to their relationship. Behind Lois the new guy, Richard, was stood at the bar staring at them again. Clark found it unnerving. He had been watching them all night.

"Obviously, I've never been to a barn dance, or a hoe-down, or a..." Lois swished her cocktail glass for emphasis, "_corn-tossing_ competition, or whatever it is that passes for a good time where you come from, but here in the city, on dance floors there are quite often," she pointed out to the room, "people."

"We can't be seen like this."

"Like what?" What was he talking about? They were just dancing.

"Look, can we get out of here? Somewhere more private?"

-----

Out on the sidewalk, the night air was cool and it cleared her head. Lois shivered and decided she preferred the fuzzy insouciance she had been enjoying in the bar. She was carefully holding her geraniums and the flowerpot was freezing in her hands.

"Okay, we're not having fun anymore." She shrugged on her coat whilst trying not to damage the plant as they stood at the curb on the look-out for a cab. "Happy now?"

He made a face at her. "Dancing with you in front of everyone- people will think something's changed between us."

Her forehead wrinkled, "Something _has_ changed between us."

"Yes, but, no-one's supposed to know that."

"You honestly care that much about what people think?"

He snapped at her without really meaning to, "The whole point of Clark is that people don't think."

Lois didn't seem offended. "Okay- we'll go somewhere else, somewhere you can relax?"

She wasn't getting it. He knew he should have walked away from the elevator this morning- they were only making it harder for themselves in the long run.

"How about next sunday? There's a classic movie marathon running at the Palace. To Kill A Mocking Bird's showing-"

He scuffed his shoe. "I'm not sure I can make that."

"Alright." She considered their options. "Then how about a night at the Met? There's no chance of running into anyone there. Well, except Julian from the Music review section, and he's clinically blind. You know, they're just starting a season of French Opera?"

"I don't think that's a very good idea."

Her jaw set with impatience at him.

"Okay then, fine. But you're still coming to my sister's Easter party, right? I replied to the invitation months ago and said we'd both be there. The kids are really looking forward to meeting you."

There was a beat as Clark remained silent.

"It's in a couple of weekends- on the Saturday."

"Saturday's my busiest night."

"_Easter_ Saturday?"

"Yes."

"You're going to be busy on _Easter_ Saturday?"

"You'd be surprised at the correlation between religious holidays and crime statistics, Lois."

"_Clark_!" she cried, exasperated. "Stop being such a jerk! What's your problem?"

"What's _my_ problem?" He pointed at the flowers in her hands, "_You're_ the one breaking the agreement."

She squinted, "What agreement?"

"That we agreed to be friends!"

"Yes, I want us to be friends!"

"_Just_ friends."

They glared at each other and she tucked the geraniums under one arm and placed her hand on her hip.

"Fine! Yes! _Just_ friends. Jesus, Clark, I'm hardly expecting us to walk up to Lucy and announce our engagement."

He sighed in frustration. Why did she have to make everything that much more difficult? He explained slowly,

"Things have to be the same as they were before."

She fixed him with her eye, "The same as they were before?"

"_Yes_."

Rapidly running out of patience, she pointed out, "You wanted to_ be with me_ before!"

"This isn't about what I wanted _then_. I'm talking about how we have to behave _now_. I can't take you out on dates, Lois!"

They stood staring at each other before she turned away and muttered irritably to herself,

"I can't talk to you _in_side of work, I can't talk to you _out_side of work. I'm never going to see you!"

The light of awful understanding passed over her face. She turned to him again. He looked guilty.

She repeated, "I'm never going to see you?" but it wasn't so much a question as a statement of fact.

"Don't you think this is hard for me too? Do you think it's easy, stood next to you in there? Being so close to you and not being able to touch you? How do you think it makes me feel when you're pressing up against me like that?"

"I really wouldn't know, Clark- instead of _talking _to me about it you're skulking around the office leaving me little cups of orange juice!"

He bristled, "Skulking? I don't...hey, I thought you liked orange juice!"

"I do! But I like you more!" She practically stamped her foot in frustration.

"You're all I think about."

She watched his shoulders slump on a sigh. He approached her and spoke gently, "We have to be normal."

"Normal?" she laughed without humor, "I don't even know what that means for us, anymore?"

"It means..." He swallowed and tried to find the words, "It means that the things I would've liked to have done with you as Clark, I can't do now. Because it's not that simple."

"What are you telling me? Our relationship's never going to change? We're going to work together, and that's it? I'm never going to get to hang out with Clark Kent?"

He couldn't meet her eyes.

Putting a brave face on it, Lois squared her shoulders, "Okay then. You can come see me as Superman."

His eyes flicked back onto hers, giving him away.

She raised her arms at her sides in disbelief, "You don't want to be in my life at all; not as Clark OR Superman?"

"Yes. No! It's not that. I don't know-"

She'd had enough of this for one day. She raised her eyes heavenward, "Oh, make up your mind, Clark- "

"I'm IN LOVE with you, okay?"

It was the raw emotion in his voice, and the unexpected manner in which he'd suddenly interrupted her as much as the way that he was looking at her now that took her aback.

"The truth is, I think I fall more in love with you, every day! You're all _I_ think about. All the time. Being with you was the greatest night of my life! Is that what you want me to say? Is that what you want to hear? I can barely look at you without thinking about what it was like to make love to you!"

She was aware that she'd never seen him like this. It felt dangerous. He began to step closer as his voice got more desperate.

"But the cold, hard, reality is that none of that matters anymore. What's the point in talking about it, dragging it all up again? All those feelings? I can't dance with you, I can't go to movies with you, I can't go to the opera with you and I absolutely _cannot_ come to family parties with you! It's over! For God's Sake, Lois! Why can't you just accept that, and move on?"

As he finished he turned away from her. She was completely stunned. Somehow she found her voice.

"I see."

He ran both his hands through his hair before turning back.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout."

She lifted a shoulder, "No, don't worry about it. You, uh, want to forget that we ever happened."

He looked at her quickly, "That's. That's not exactly what I meant."

"No, I understand. Thanks for spelling it out. _Got it_."

After a series of small nods to herself she re-hitched her purse onto her shoulder, turned sharply and began walking as fast as high heels and an armful of plant would allow.

He moved after her, "Lois-"

Her voice broke, "Get away from me."

With his long stride he easily caught her up, "Please let me take you home."

"I said get away from me!"

She roughly elbowed him off and, determined not to give him and his superduper-powered-_jerkwad_ hearing the satisfaction, forced great hitches of sobs back down her throat. She felt sick with anger. True Friendship? This is what he could do with his True Friendship! She slammed the flowers into the nearest trash can as if dunking a basketball.

Clark watched her coat disappear around the corner as the smash of the clay flowerpot echoed horribly against the sides of the metal container and resounded back into the night.

He took off his glasses to wipe his eyes with his hand. "I really screwed that up."


	3. Chapter 2

The following Friday was the last Friday of the month. That meant the lunch hour special at Le Bistro; a poky, French-style eaterie where the cuisine was about as authentic as the maitre d's accent, but the chef was on first name terms with all the regulars- about fifty percent of whom were Planet staffers. And the dessert menu was legendary.

"So." Jimmy Olsen took a delicate sip from between the ice cubes of a tall glass of cranberry juice. "This is nice, huh?"

"Yeah!" agreed Clark, unnecessarily enthusiastically while he swilled his iced tea with a straw.

Jimmy nodded to himself. "Two guys together."

"Mmm." Clark nodded back, brightly.

"Doin' are own thing. Shooting the breeze. Being Men. Talking about manly stuff! Who needs girls, right?"

"Ri-hight." Somehow, Clark's answer lacked a little of his earlier conviction.

He and Jimmy were sat opposite each other at a table laid for two, nestled in a romantic corner of the restaurant. Silence stretched out before them as they waited for their orders to arrive. Jimmy fiddled with his napkin and scrunched his nose,

"It's kind of weird being here without Miss Lane, isn't it?"

Clark raised his head, "Yeah."

-----

As he and Jimmy stepped into the bustle of the office, the first thing Clark noticed was that she was back at her desk. He made straight for her.

"Hey Lois."

She had a pen between her teeth and was hunched over an open cabinet drawer rifling through files. She didn't appear to have heard him although he had spoken quite clearly. He coughed lightly into one hand, keeping the other behind his back. He enunciated,

"How did the hearing go, this morning?"

Flicking through a dossier laying on her knees, she took the pen from her mouth to reply distractedly, "Great. I'm due back at court in an hour."

He nodded to himself. "Right."

All too early, the conversation had reached its natural end. He needed to work on his opening gambits. "We missed you at lunch."

She was following lines of text with the nib, underscoring words as she read. "That's nice."

Clark squared his shoulders; time to just be brave. "I, uh, have something for you."

Without looking up, Lois whispered under her breath, "Yay. I hope it's more oak-leaved geraniums, so I can shove those up your ass, too."

"I'm sorry?"

She cleared her throat and raised her head to him. He wore a wounded expression on his face. "I said 'I have something for you, too.'"

They watched each other. "Oh."

She waited for him to go first. When he didn't she lifted an eyebrow, "Well?"

From behind his back he presented a paper plate in one hand and a white plastic fork in the other. The interesting thing about the fork, Lois couldn't help but note, was that she knew Le Bistro's didn't stock them. He must have gone to a special effort to provide her with one. On the plate was a Mille-feuille pastry with combed icing decoration.

She regarded it. He held it out to her,

"It's a Napoleon slice with vanilla filling and whipped cream." Her usual order. Her favorite.

"Mmmm, thanks."

She reached to take it gratefully from him. Clark released a breath in relief. After a week of the silent treatment interspersed with snitty out-the-side-of-her-mouth asides, she was still being civil. It appeared he'd at last made an important breakthrough. He looked on in curiosity as Lois immediately looked to gain the attention of a co-worker. Gil brushed past Clark on his way to Perry's office. Lois stood up to stop him.

"Hey, Gil! You like pie?"

Gil eyed the slice longingly. "I'm actually on a diet..."

"It's vanilla? Sandwiched between delightful layers of melt-in-the-mouth short crust pastry?" She moved the plate around in front of Gil's nose enticingly.

He was tasting his lips, "Well I say _I'm_ on a diet..."

"It's delicious? And scrumptious? And still toasty warm?" She had to give credit to Clark, he was handier than a microwave.

"..._My wife_ has me on a diet..."

"It's very expensive; it's from Le Bistro's."

"Oh, alright, if you're twisting my arm...Just don't tell Margaret!"

Lois made a girl scout gesture, "My word is my bond," and thrust the plate into Gil's hands. "Knock yourself out."

Gil beamed at her, "Thanks, Lois!"

Lois beamed back, "Bon appetit, Gil!"

Clark watched the pastry walk away and gave a little nod to himself.

"You're not in the mood for dessert. That's okay."

She fixed him with a dead-eyed expression; "I'm busy."

When Clark didn't move from her desk she looked up, "Can I help you?"

"You mentioned you had something for me...?"

She remembered. "Riiight." Turning in her chair, she ripped three yellow sticky notes from a pad. She held them out to him. "There you go."

"What are these?"

"Phone messages." She leaned over and dropped her voice an octave, "I am still allowed to take phone messages for you, right? I wouldn't want to _break the agreement_."

Ignoring his tight smile, in turn, she read from the notelets on the tips of her fingers, "Let's see. Your jacket's ready at the dry cleaners...there was some guy named Stan asking for Karl," she shrugged her shoulders at him, "aaand," she drew out the word while she seemed to be deciphering the scribble on the last note, "...I'm sure there was something else...ah, here it is! Oh yeah!" She looked at him, "You're an emotionally-stunted asshole."

She smiled sweetly, "I may have made the last one up."

Making light of her tone, Clark enquired politely, "May I see the one about Stan, please?"

He read it and frowned. "Did he say anything about a card game? And it's Karl with a C, actually."

"I'll be sure to remember that" she told him sincerely.

"Will you?"

"No."

Jimmy walked over and into their conversation, cheerfully oblivious of the atmosphere between his friends,

"Who's Carl with a C?"

"Carl Bernstein- you know, from Woodward and Bernstein?"

Jimmy looked blank.

"Stanley's idea of a joke. Nevermind."

"Who's Stanley?"

"Oh, just some guy I go to on the South side when I need some information. Actually Lois, I was wondering-"

She held up her index finger to shush him, "Sorry, Clark, I can't talk to you right now. Or possibly ever; I'm busy on the phone."

He looked at her. She was sat at her desk with her hands folded neatly in front of her keyboard, watching him.

"No, you're not."

Picking up the receiver, she held it out at a ridiculously ineffectual distance from her ear. They could all hear the dial tone. She mouthed 'PHONE' and shrugged the international gesture for 'Wish I could help ya.'

Unconcerned at the absurdity of the tableau unfolding in front of him having given up long ago on ever trying to understand whatever passed for standard operating procedure between Clark and Lois, Jimmy piped back up,

"You've got a guy on the street, Mister Kent?" He was genuinely impressed. "Coool."

Lois replaced the phone as Clark rubbed the back of his neck wearily. "I don't know about guy on the street, Jimmy. We don't meet in abandoned parking garages or anything like that. He's not exactly Deep Throat."

"'Deep Throat'?" The younger man swallowed a snigger, "Isn't that slang for-"

"Jimmy, don't be gross," Lois admonished whilst squaring away the papers from the dossier she had been going through, "Deep Throat was the codename of the informant who leaked the information about Watergate to the Post."

"Oooh," Jimmy understood. "Like on the X-Files?"

"We actually mostly play poker at his club. X-Files, Jim?"

"Yeah, you know; Deep Throat and Mr X."

"Uh..." Clark glanced at Lois for help.

"Exactly." She got up. "Talking about hard-to-follow government plots, I've got a trial to cover. I'll see you later."

Shoving her paperwork into her shoulder bag, she slung her coat over an arm and went to walk through the small space between where Jimmy was slouched on the corner of a desk and Clark's knees.

"Oh. Bye Lois!"

"Bye, Jimmy."

Clark stood up like the gentleman he was, "Bye, Lois."

She looked straight back at him; "Bye, Jimmy."

They watched her stalk away before Jimmy turned to Clark in confusion. Clark gave him a small smile before pushing the bridge of his glasses up his nose. "She...calls me that sometimes...It's her nickname for me."

**-----**

Richard White sat at his desk, spreading a set of black and white photographic prints out with his fingertips. He needed a suitable image to accompany a new feature entitled Superman: A Modern Hero for international publication. The European offices really needed something before they went to press and he looked out over to the time zone clocks and calculated that he had a couple of hours before Moscow closed.

Not for the first time, he found his eyes drawn downwards to the bullpen. Or more specifically to Lois Lane, and, inevitably, Clark Kent. Where there was one, there was usually the other. And they were fascinating to watch. If Perry hadn't have laughed in his face at the inference, Richard would have said they were sleeping together. In any case, ever since he'd been at the Planet, he'd witnessed a daily pattern of behavior between them best described as fraught. Kent was like a figure on one of those Swiss cuckoo clocks, forever getting up, sitting down, thinking about it, getting up again and then finally going over to Lois's desk. Richard didn't think he'd ever seen him still. Lois's attitude seemed to vacillate between humoring the frequent visits, and flat-out stonewalling the guy. However, very occasionally, and only when she was sure no one was looking, Richard caught her gazing at him with an expression that was difficult to name but closely resembled tenderness.

Richard watched her now. She was on her way past Kent's desk. Her hand seemed to accidentally reach out and knock over an immaculately stacked pile of his papers. They fluttered in the air like flakes in a giant snow globe. Lois didn't appear to have noticed because she failed to break stride. More strangely, Kent didn't react either. He just remained stony-faced and stabbing at his keyboard as sheafs of paper settled around him, one landing on his head. In her wake, Lois had left chaos and by the jaunt in her step Richard could've sworn she felt good about it. He was just admiring the way her skirt hugged her hips when she walked like that when he was interrupted by a knock on the glass of his open door. A young man wearing a bow tie peered in.

"Oh! Come in, come in." Richard pointed and squinted, "Jimmy, right?"

"Hi!" Jimmy stepped inside and held up three labelled folders. "The Chief said to give you these."

"Thanks. That's great."

Jimmy laid them on Richard's desk before gesturing to each in turn. "This one is all the action shots, this one is all the close-ups, and this one," the final folder was three times as thick as the others, and bursting with prints, "is all the ones with Lois."

Richard raised his eyebrows. "Alot."

"Yeah." Jimmy seemed to consider the implications of that for a second, "He always seems to show up right on cue whenever I'm on a story with Clark and Lois?" Putting his head close to Richard as if sharing a secret, Jimmy explained in hushed tones, "I think he must look out for me."

Richard opened the third folder and looked at the photographs. Superman holding Lois, Superman lifting Lois, Superman coming into land with Lois, Superman apparently not aware of anyone else in the world, but Lois. He looked at Jimmy kindly, and without sarcasm agreed "I'm sure that's it."

Emboldened, Jimmy grinned, "We're quite good friends, actually. Me and Superman." There was a pause. He added, "Well, me." Beat. "And Lois." Beat. "And Clark."

Richard glanced up and watched Clark watching Lois at her desk.

"Yeah, what's up with those two?"

"Well, I'd never say it to Miss Lane's face but..." Jimmy leaned in and whispered, "They seem to be having what you might call a 'Lover's tiff.' She's not been up to the roof in _weeks_."

Richard frowned and for a long moment wondered what mysterious role the roof might possibly play in the unfathomably complex relationship between Lois and Clark. It wasn't until he looked back at Jimmy and saw that the photographer was still looking down at the prints that he realised they were talking about two different people.

"Oh. No; not Lois and Superman," he nodded out into the bullpen, "those two."

Jimmy followed the direction of Richard's gaze.

"Lois and Clark? They're best friends." he explained matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, that's what my uncle says," and Richard hadn't bought it then, either. "For best friends, they sure do ...bicker alot."

Jimmy shrugged, "That's just their way."

Richard was unsatisfied. "They seem kind of antsy with each other."

"Do they?"

They turned their attention back to the reporters. A snatch of conversation drifted over from where Clark now stood in front of Lois's desk, Lois seemed exorcised about something, "...think a bunch of flowers or a slice of pie, or a..." She held up a cardboard cup; "half caff, double tall, non fat, whole milk mocha choca latte can fix it, you're insane."

She called after his retreating back, "Even if you _did _remember the white chocolate sprinkles on the foam!"

Richard and Jimmy watched as she flagrantly poured the entire contents of a large, and, by the sounds of it, thoughtfully-ordered, cup of coffee into the soil of a nearby rubber plant.

"Huh." Jimmy scratched the back of his head, "I guess they do."

"So. They're not involved."

Jimmy cocked his head, trying to understand what the other man was getting at. "They're partners."

"No, I mean...so they're not..." Richard seemed uncomfortable talking about this, "Together?"

Oh! "Noohoo!"

"Because it seems like-"

"No way. Lois and Clark?" Jimmy chuckled. "Although," he looked up in thought, "now that you mention it, things have been a little weird between them lately. But you know, Miss Lane was caught up in all that alien stuff." He deepened his voice and scowled to do his best Zod impression; "'I DEFY YOU, SUPERMAN!' and everything. And Mr Kent worries about her an awful lot."

"But, Lois...Miss Lane...she's not ...with anybody?"

Through the door they heard Perry bellow,

"LANE! KENT! Get in here."

"Uh, I guess not. Discounting, you know," Jimmy made the Superman hand gesture, "the obvious. Why?"

"No reason." Richard picked up a print. "Thanks, for bringing these in."

-----

They sat in front of Perry's desk like errant school children summoned to the principal's office. Lois was as far away from Clark as she could possibly scoot her chair. Clark had his arms folded and a dark expression on his face.

Stood against his window, Perry was a silhouetted outline to them. With his thumbs tucked in his belt, he looked out across the city.

"We've waited long enough. Superman's been quiet. And when Superman's quiet people get worried. And when people get worried, they look to the Planet," he turned to face them, "and the Planet looks to you. I think it's time for another interview. We should know Superman's views on the situation." He regarded his two best reporters seriously, "What do you think?"

"-No!" "-Yes!" they blurted together.

Perry raised his eyebrows in surprise. Lois and Clark had a habit of answering him simultaneously, and quite often they were disagreeing with each other when they did, but usually it was with far less enmity in their voices.

Lois was scowling. "I've had it up to here with Superman's views on the situation."

Perry gave her a knowing look, "So, you have been seeing him?"

Again, they replied in unison; "-Yes!" "-No!"

Perry furrowed his brow, and scrutinised their faces whilst waiting for clarification. Clark looked the most uncomfortable and cracked first, "I mean 'Yes'...Well, no." He hedged, "Kind of."

Lois leant forward to Perry and, putting her hand to her mouth, stage-whispered dramatically, "_Clark has difficulty making up his mind._"

Clark pursed his lips but kept his eyes on his editor, "I think an interview's an excellent idea, Chief."

Perry was going to respond to that before Lois, swivelling round to face Clark, interrupted,

"Oh, you do?"

"I do."

"Well," she swivelled back to Perry, "since Clark thinks it's such a good idea," she opened her hands before folding them pristinely on her knee, "he can handle it."

Perry opened his mouth to say something to Lois, but this time Clark cut in,

"No, he can't."

"Why not?"

"Because. You're close to him."

"_You're_ close to him."

"People want to know more about these...Phantom Zone people. You were there."

They eyed each other meaningfully. She refused to be outmanoeuvred by him. "What's that got to do with anything? I've already written about General Zod." She appealed to Perry, "I've already written about General Zod."

Perry managed a "The-" before Clark interrupted him, again.

"Well. Maybe it's important to Superman that _He_ gets a chance to talk to _you_."

Lois imitated Clark's emphasis, "Maybe _Heee_ already had His chance- and _Heee_ blew it."

"_Maybe_ it means alot to him that you can still be friends."

"Friends!" Lois spat. "Maybe, _he _should realise that's _exactly_ what I was saying in the first place!"

Perry was happy that at least the two of them seemed to be following the conversation, because he'd lost track about three Maybe's ago and their back-and-forth was getting faster and more heated.

"Well, _maybe_ he thought that wasn't what you were saying. _Maybe _he thought you were finding it difficult to let go, and just wants to make things easier."

"OOOh!" Lois touched her fingertips to her forehead, "he wants to make things _easier. _Well, that just takes care of everything. He can say what he wants, be as hurtful as he wants, just along as it's because he's trying to make things _easier-_"

"And _maybe_, if you could just stop ignoring him and give him the opportunity to explain-"

"Well, maybe _he_ should have thought about that before throwing a gigantic, and, frankly, unnecessary..." Lois groped for an appropriate word, "..._hissyfit, _when all I was asking, _as a friend_ was whether he wanted to go to my sister's stupid party!"

There was quiet. Clark was momentarily side-tracked. "A _hissyfit_?"

Lois nodded gravely, "A hissyfit."

"A hissyfit?" Perry repeated in disgust. "_Superman_?" He looked into the middle-distance and his face changed, "Interesting angle. Emotional. I like it."

"_Maybe_ if you would quit behaving like a spoilt child for _just one second_, and look at the bigger picture and all the issues he has to consider, you would think about his feelings and see that the _only things_ he cares about are trying to do what's best for the world and what's best for you! "

Clark finished on a flourish and then pointed across the desk, "And Superman _does not throw_ hissyfits, Chief!"

With that the fireworks appeared to be over. Perry watched as they both recoiled and smouldered away in their chairs.

"Alright. What's going on with you two?" He looked expectantly at Lois.

"Nothing."

And then back at Clark,

"Nothing's going on."

The older man felt their denials would have carried more weight had their entire demeanor not belied their words to such a dramatic degree. Clark was practically glowering and the top button of his shirt collar had come undone, which was about the closest the man got to losing it completely. Lois was sat, arms crossed and had now turned herself so far round she was practically facing the wall. She offered, "Clark's a jerk; everything's normal" by way of explanation.

Clark simply ignored her with the kind of long-suffering patience that Perry recognised after forty years of marriage, "So Chief, about the interview?"

"Right." He pointed at Lois with the knuckle of his finger. "Clark's right. You were the reporter there with these ...alien...criminals; readers will want the benefit of your insight."

Lois huffed like she'd just been handed a week's detention for smoking under the bleachers.

Perry flickered his fingers at her, "I want you to...do whatever it is you do, and set up a meeting with Superman."

"Do whatever it is I do?" Lois was not in the mood. If she was going to be forced to conduct an interview against her will, at the very least it could be on the grounds that she was a decent journalist. "What does that even mean? I'm not _bait_, Perry. I don't go skipping around rooftops waiting for him in stilettos and a teddy."

At her words, Clark's Adam's apple involuntarily bobbed and he was grateful that Lois was facing away from him and Perry had returned to gaze out the window,

"I want to know how he's feeling; is he okay? These Phantom Zone people; are there more? Does he think they'll come back? Are we safe?"

Perry faced them again. "The world's changed, and I want to know what Superman thinks about it."

Lois rolled her eyes.

"I want your head back in the game for this, Lois."

Always pick your battles, her father had taught her. Lois knew this one was lost. "Whatever. Fine. When?"

Clark offered, "How about tonight?"

Perry agreed, "Great!"

"No."

"Why?"

Although Clark had asked the question, Lois directed her answer at her boss, "I'm busy tonight."

Although Lois had directed her answer at Perry, Clark directed his answer back at Lois, "No, you're not."

"How would you know?"

"You're not busy!"

Still focusing on Perry, she insisted through gritted teeth, "Yes, I am."

"Doing what?"

For the first time in the conversation she addressed Clark, "I have a life, Clark. You have nothing to do with it, so you wouldn't know about it, but I have a life."

She turned back to her editor once more, full of poise and reason,

"I'm sorry Chief, but I have pages and pages of notes on the Monroe case to go through. And to be honest I've barely seen anything of Superman since we came back. Unless I throw myself off the roof I don't see how I can set up an interview at such short notice." She braved a sideways glance at Clark; never play a player.

Whilst he looked on in unimpressed displeasure, Lois gestured to herself with her hands, "You see my dilemma."

Perry sighed and let the room settle into silence. He balanced his fingertips on the back of his chair.

"Okay, look kids. Obviously recent events have taken their toll on you two. I understand." He wiped his hands through the air. "Tonight, forget deadlines, forget the interview. Go home, both of you, and come back Monday. And when you do, please leave your relationship _bullshit_ the hell out of my newspaper building."

---

KNOCK KNOCK.

Clark inclined his head to peer over the rim of his glasses and watched as she sashayed toward the door in her dressing gown. He tried manfully to ignore how very little it left to the imagination. Instead, he concentrated on her face. She looked a little angry

She swung the door open long enough to say, "I said No interview" and then slammed it closed again. As she walked away, she called back loudly; "And stop ogling my ass through the door! Creep."

After a quick check in both directions of the hallway, he x-rayed the lock and saw that she had left the latch unhooked. Applying pressure with his fingertips he gently forced the door open. She was in the kitchen rinsing cooking pans. She didn't bother looking round to call over,

"I think that's known as unlawful entry."

He strode in to the middle of her apartment and flung his coat onto the couch. It was an incredibly intimate gesture that went unregarded as they were both too frustrated and riled with each other to register it.

"How long are you going to keep this up?" he demanded.

"Keep what up?"

"Being mad at me?"

She turned off the water and faced him, leaning against the sink with her hands placed either side for balance. It tugged the material at her chest open. A wave of desire rolled right through him and he pulled himself together.

She cocked her head, "Well, uh, gee, Clark. It's kind of hard to say. I guess I've just not got much experience in a situation where a guy tells you that he's in love with you, but that he doesn't want to ever speak to you again."

"Okay, well, that's not exactly what I said."

"Oh, no sorry, you're right, you're right. How did you put it?" She put her finger to her lips, "Oh yeah;" she monotoned loudly, "'It's over. For God Sake's, why can't you just accept it, and move on?' I remember because it's kind of pithy."

She moved away from the sink to collect more dinner things from her dining table. He was stood in her way.

"Excuse me."

He turned his shoulder to let her pass. "We can't keep ignoring each other."

Lois spluttered, "Ignoring each other? You call this _ignoring_ each other? You spend your _entire _day hovering around my desk, bringing me stuff, _bothering_ me or trying to catch my attention! Yesterday you were waving your arms at me so much I thought you were attempting to semaphore a 747 onto the runway!"

Clark put his hands to his hips and sighed at her as she returned back to the kitchen. If she was going to be _semantic_ about it, "Fine! _You_ can't keep ignoring _me_."

Ignoring him, Lois stretched on a pair of yellow dishwashing gloves and barraled on, "And speaking of wildly inappropriate methods of communication, you're taking messages from informants via work colleagues and Post It Notes? Way to protect your source, Clark."

Clark rolled his eyes, "He's not a source, and he doesn't need protecting; he's a guy I play cards with."

She wasn't listening. She had started to scour the bottom of her grill pan with a scrubbing brush.

"Why don't you just do the job properly and hang a flashing neon sign around his neck; 'Kill me, I'm a narc'? Seriously, and for the last time; join the rest of us here in the twenty-first century and buy a cell phone; they're like these little magic talking boxes that allow you to hold private conversations with people and they don't even use wires."

"See, my big problem with a cell phone is that I'd always feel like I should have it switched on, you know?" He matched her pissy tone with his, "It's kind of an uncomfortable metaphor for my life."

At that she rounded on him, brandishing the business end of her brush dangerously, anger flashing in her eyes, "What do you expect me to say to that? What the hell do you expect from me? Sympathy? Condolence? Commiseration?" She threw up her hands, "'Woe, woe is you, you and your tortured existence'? Am I supposed to feel bad that you want to, what? Switch off? Have a normal life, but you can't because you're different?"

She was incensed, "Well, I do feel bad; because it sucks! It all sucks! You suck! Because it's all your choice, Clark, not mine!"

He met fire with fire, "It's hardly my choice Lois, it's my birthright!"

She snorted in disgust and went back to furiously working at the griddle, "Oh, please; it's the chip on your shoulder."

"Jor-El told me-"

"Him again."

"Jor-El told me-"

She stopped what she was doing. "Why does he always have to be the last word?"

"He's the last link I have to my past."

"So why does he get to decide our future?" She flinched and quickly covered over her slip; "Your future?"

"Lois, he's my father-"

She threw the scrubbing brush into the sink, "He's not your father!" she shouted, desperately, "He's a big floaty head in a crystal! And you know what? I think things would work out easier for you if you would just _wake up_ and realise that if he was alive, and if he was here, and if he could just. see. how much I..." the sentence remained, strangled in her throat as she began to lose it.

Hopeless. It was all hopeless.

"What are you doing here?"

She looked so vulnerable and defeated, stood there in front of him in a flimsy dressing gown and yellow rubber gloves, so unready to go to war, so unlike Lois. He wanted to touch her, to comfort her. Instead, he pleaded, "I'm trying to have a conversation."

"Well, I don't want a conversation."

"What _do_ you want?"

Eyes shining with tears and breath hitching with the effort, she hoarsely managed to scratch out; "You! Next to me when I wake up! For the rest of my life!"

Barely above a whisper, he entreated "Lois-"

"I guess we don't always get what we want."

"Oh, Lois."

She fought to collect herself and stepped away from him to maintain their distance. She peeled off the gloves so she could rub her face. "You know what? Forget I said anything. I'm tired, and angry, and I was being intentionally facetious."

"Lois..."

"Please Clark, forget it. I told you when we first got back that I understand," she looked him in the eye, "and I do."

He could see that whatever reserves of strength she'd been forced to call upon, she meant it. He wondered if he'd ever wanted her more.

His voice was low and earnest, "I don't know how else to do this?"

"I know. It's just hard. Harder than I thought it was going to be." She wiped at the corner of her eyes with the back of her thumb. "But I can do it, I can... live a life without you...Just, please." She shook her head sadly at him. "Don't expect me to do it with a smile on my face."

Outside, on the street below, they heard sirens shrieking past.

Her head dropped as his rolled back in a mirrored gesture of frustration at whatever crisis now demanded his attention; at the sheer ineptitude of a world that couldn't look after itself for five minutes; and at themselves, for being unable to deny the call of duty when it came. She blew out an unsteady breath.

"Hold-up at the First National Bank on fifty-second, right?"

He smiled at her attempt at levity, "I don't think so; they're fire engines, not police cars. They make a different sound."

"You better go."

He nodded. "I'll see you at work?"

"Bright and early." She smiled stoically, "I'll buy you a coffee. I think I owe you one." There was a pause while she mentally counted the number of times she'd poured away, handed out or simply thrown back all the gifts of apology he'd brought her over the last week. "Or several."

Stood before her, he carefully took off his glasses and then ripped open his shirt. The sheer visceral pleasure of seeing him do that forced an unsteady "O-Oh" of pure longing from her throat and she scrunched her eyes shut and bit her lip. _Damn him_. _Damn him. Damn him. _When she opened her eyes again the curtains were blowing in from her open balcony doors. His overcoat had been forgotten and lay where he had left it on the back of the couch. He was gone.


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N To everyone following this story; hope you enjoy. **

* * *

As much as anything, it stood as a testament to the streak of obstinacy that ran through her like granite; Lois reset their clock, and so Clark got what he wanted. Gradually things settled back to a routine of behavior recognisable as the way things were- before she found out. Days turned into weeks, they drifted apart to resume life as friends, and nothing more. It was as if everything that had happened between Niagara Falls and the Fortress was destined to exist only as the remnant of a dream half-remembered, or, if Clark was feeling melodramatic about it, remain as the bittersweet epigraph to a life half-lived. 

But not everything was the same- there were subtle differences between their lives before, and their lives now. Thomas Jefferson once mused over the inscrutability of cause and effect, and it was the unanticipated outcomes of this new development in their relationship that Clark felt most keenly; there were, for instance, the practical benefits of Lois knowing he was Superman. When they arrived at the scene of an emergency, he no longer had to waste time making his excuses. And back in the newsroom, with someone to cover for him, his absences became a lot less tricky to explain. Lois made life as Superman _easier._

The irony didn't escape Clark, and it was compounded by other unforeseen, and less welcome consequences of their self-imposed detachment. Lois seemed to have made a conscious effort to trim their friendship around the edges and although nothing was ever said, they stopped working late together, and when they talked- they talked about work.

He also found that she didn't laugh as much anymore.

And then, there was Richard.

He wasn't sure that Lois was even aware of it, but Clark couldn't help but notice, and with a sensitivity he knew he had relinquished the right to have, that just recently, Perry's nephew contrived the most outlandish of pretences, and the flimsiest of reasons to come and talk to Lois. On one occasion last week, Clark had watched in consternation as Richard had made the trip over to where she was busy at work, interrupted her to ask whether she could point him in the direction of spare ink cartridges for his printer when _everyone __knew_ there was always an emergency supply in the stationary cupboard, _and then_ removed a pen from his trouser pocket before, to Clark's mounting disbelief, deftly _dropping_ it onto her desk. The reason for this became clear when, a trip to retrieve some ink cartridges later, Richard apologetically had to make a further unscheduled stop at Lois's work station to re-find the pen again.

Clark, of course, was no stranger to the business of manufacturing even the least-likely of scenarios just for the chance to spend time with Lois; Lord knows, over the time they'd known each other he'd faked enough apartment fumigation emergencies just for the opportunity to convince her to take pity and have him over for dinner- even to the extent that Lois, for a time, had been genuinely concerned over his ability to take adequate care of himself. But a forgotten _pen_? At least he'd put a bit of _imagination_ into it.

Now, having just exited the elevator an hour after running out to attend a road traffic accident (or return an overdue library book- the distinction entirely dependent on how much you knew and whether your name was 'Lois'), Clark's heart flared as across the crowded floor, he caught Richard sneak a glance at his empty chair before walking over in the direction of her desk for what must be like, the fifth, blatantly unnecessary time, so far that week. Clark felt his jaw muscles work.

---

"Hey Lois, if you've got a second I was wondering if I could talk to you about a piece you wrote last year?"

"Sure."

A process of trial and error had taught Richard that the most effective time to approach Lois was when Clark was out of the office. Happily, this seemed a pretty regular occurrence. After a surreptitious check to make sure this was still the case, Richard perched himself on the corner of the desk at right angles to her and adopted a posture meant to convey suave, yet serious. Nominally, his plan was to engage Lois in conversation about an article she had written some months ago which compared the crime rate of Metropolis with other world cities. In reality he wanted to ask her to the Planet's annual Summer Charity Ball.

Perry had assured him Lois would be going to the hottest event on the newspaper's wall-chart calendar, and Jimmy was emphatic that she never came with Clark. However, but only if he had known to ask, Jimmy would have also added that although no one- unless they were drunk and/or had momentarily taken leave of higher cognitive function- _dared_ use the word 'date' around Lois to describe their attendance at the event, it was common knowledge that Lois and Clark would turn up alone, spend the evening gravitating toward each other, and by the end of the night, share the last dance. It was the kind of office tradition that served as a salutary reminder to the newsroom of the importance of maintaining a life outside of work, but made everyone 'aw!' at the two of them regardless.

Blissfully ignorant of the intricacies of the Lois and Clark road show, and armed with today's raison d'être to be near her, Richard enthusiastically sounded Lois out on the feasibility of her rewriting the article for him,

"...Except with a slightly different angle..."

Lois noticed that Richard's eyes sparkled when he was excited about something. It made her smile. She supposed she found him cute in a clean-cut kind of way.

"...And I was thinking it would be great if we could get hold of some statistics to back that up; you know, 'One in five visitors said they rated Metropolis's, whatever, _shopping experience_, or something, ahead of its East coast counterparts'."

She considered him as he talked. There was no edge to him- in fact, he could be downright flaky; he was always leaving something on her desk and having to come back and collect it, and that happened two or three times a day. Nevertheless, by all accounts he was doing an excellent job on the paper's international section and she had to admit, he did have some interesting ideas. He was espousing one of them to her now but her attention wandered when, out the corner of her eye, she saw that Clark had arrived back.

Richard was saying something about the value of writers who really knew their subject and although she was still nodding along, her concentration had shifted to her peripheral vision. She was trying to assess Clark's body language, running over a mental checklist to see if he was okay, to see if she could gauge the success of his latest heroic excursion. An hour ago they had been in the middle of a discussion about covering the ViroTech embezzlement scandal when he'd stopped short and that look had crossed his face. She hadn't bothered to ask- just told him to go, and then checked in with the local news station. A bad car pile-up on the I-90; fatalities expected. Her heart had sunk for him.

But, at least she'd learned to appreciate the signs- learned that a certain droop in his shoulders meant more than just a tired co-worker in need of a caffeine-injection. There was an element of morbidity to the exercise, she knew, but his work could be so horrifying, and if she couldn't pick up the pieces, she felt the least she could do was acknowledge that the pieces existed.

So it was only when there was a weird longish pause and she had refocused to find Richard looking at her expectantly, that she realised they had probably reached that point in conversation where convention dictated it was her turn to say something.

"Um. I'm sorry. What?"

Richard watched as Lois's concentration struggled to return to him. He guessed Clark was back at his desk. Working hard to keep his voice light and airy he tried again,

"I said, I see you've received your invitation for the Summer Ball?"

"Oh." Lois picked up the cream-colored and decoratively-finished envelope like it was some kind of mysterious artefact and she was required to decide whether to classify it; vegetable, animal, or mineral. "Yes."

"I've heard it's a pretty big deal around here?"

She looked back at him, curious. "I guess."

The conversation had seemed to have moved away from work things. Under her scrutiny, Richard fidgeted. There was a slight reddening to his cheeks, and he was unable to meet her eyes. Lois recognised the signs; the new guy had a little crush. He scratched the side of his face with a finger,

"It sounds like a fun night; very sophisticated and glamorous."

Lois thought back to Charity Balls past. There was last year. She'd dragged a reluctant and protesting Clark to wait with her on the rooftop of the Ritz but Superman hadn't shown up like he promised he would and, pride wounded at the indignity of being stood up- and in front of _Clark_, she'd ended up hitting the bar and perhaps had a _little _too much to drink. Her memory of the rest of that night was hazy but she vaguely recalled being led outside to a taxi, yelling to anyone who would listen; 'I know my limits! Cark Klent, get off me!' as Clark took her home.

She remembered coming to in the cab and that she had drooled on his shoulder. He'd taken her in his arms and carried her up to her apartment.

Blessed with the gift of hindsight, she questioned the necessity of him pretending to struggle quite _so_ badly to get her to her door. She was going to have to have a word with him about that.

Then, there was the year before that, when a fist fight had broken out between the Sports section feature writers and Travel's sub-editorial team over a running feud about a misused Xerox machine, of all things.

And then the year before _that_, Linda from the Letters page got up on stage and led everyone in a rousing and impromptu rendition of Dolly Parton's 'Nine to Five.' When they got to the part of the verse where they sang;

'_Want to, move ahead,_

_but the boss won't seem to let me in,_

_I swear, sometimes that man is out to get me!'_

Perry sportingly stood up and took a bow. So although it sounded a respectable and formal occasion, the Summer Ball probably had less in common with high society, and was more comparable to a high school graduation party.

"It's a chance for everyone to let their hair down." Lois agreed.

"You know, I think these kind of things are very romantic."

Amused at the circuitous route this come-on was taking, Lois decided to hell with it, and gave him the floor;

"How's that?"

"Yeah, well, you know. Men in black ties and dinner jackets. Women in beautiful dresses."

Lois looked at him steadily, "My dress is very beautiful."

He leant in, "Couples swaying in time to the music...guys getting all hot under the collar..."

She nodded, "Mmm."

Feeling brave, he leant in further and dropped his voice, "Everything on the outside so prim and proper but underneath, all that pent up restrained energy waiting for a release-"

A loud snap made them jump. They turned in the direction of the noise. Over at his desk Clark was clutching part of a broken pencil in each hand. He held up one splintered end and coughed embarrassedly. "My-My pencil needs sharpening."

Lois fantasized about crying 'Does it ever!' and vaulting over their desks to land on his lap.

"Don't you think?" Richard continued.

Lois was unable to keep herself from glancing back at Clark as he busied himself with work. They both tried to pretend they were more interested in their respective engagements, and when they briefly made accidental eye contact they quickly looked away again.

"I guess I've never looked at it that way before." she offered thoughtfully.

"So, I was uh, just wondering if you were going this year?"

She watched Clark get up and leave.

"Uh, I don't know."

"You don't know?"

Lois zoned in again and turned to Richard, answering truthfully,

"I've not decided yet."

Richard smiled and heaved his shoulders; "What's there to decide?" He counted on his fingers, "A seven course dinner; champagne; the Metropolis Symphony Quintet? My uncle says _you love_ dancing and music."

"Is that right?"

Richard nodded.

Lois rested her chin on one hand, "Well, your uncle also says he'll consider retirement once he hits seventy and we all know that's not true, so."

"You don't like dancing and music?"

Lois explained, "I like music and dancing fine; I'll have you know I waltz like a Viennese princess, _and_ I'm a patron of the Metropolis Operatic Society." She smiled and shrugged, "I've just _not_ decided whether I'm going to go to the Summer Ball or not."

Richard's face fell. "But, I thought you always go?"

Lois squinted at him, "You seem to have done your research on me?"

He blew out a breath. "I'm really screwing this up." Maybe he should just come clean, "I'm just saying, if you were going, I'm going too. I thought, maybe. That we could go together?"

She regarded him seriously. "Like I said, I've not decided."

He nodded before giving her a small smile that let her know there were no hard feelings.

"Maybe next time then."

"Maybe next time."

---

The rain came down straight and glistened under the orange phosphorescence of the street lights.

Clark was stood sheltered in the doorway of a bar with the proprietor of the establishment; a small, balding, forbidding-looking man with dark, wiry hair and eyebrows, but set underneath the eyebrows were a pair of shining black eyes that creased around the edges when he laughed.

Like a detective in a Raymond Chandler novel, Clark looked up at the inky sky and flicked the collar of his coat up against the rain, "Thanks Stan. I appreciate your time."

The other man bitched back, "Yeah? Well, I appreciate my money."

Clark grinned and patted his coat pocket, "Don't worry- I know you're always heartened to hear it all goes to a good cause."

Stan, for his part, was used to losing big to Clark. But it was still difficult to take. "You know, it's funny. You don't much look like a card shark?"

"Let's just say I have a gift." Clark nodded at him, "Take care of yourself."

"You too, Carl. Keep doing good things at that paper of yours."

They shook hands warmly. "I couldn't do it without you; let me know if you hear anything about that drug shipment, okay?"

Something behind Clark's shoulder caught Stan's attention and he blew out a long, low wolf-whistle. Clark turned around to see. Across the street there was an incredibly beautiful woman hurrying towards a waiting cab.

"Look at that." Stan admired wistfully, "Legs that you could eat off."

Clark couldn't help but smile at the temerity of his friend; "You'd be eating out of a tube if she heard you say that."

Over on the opposite sidewalk Lois, wearing no coat, and evidently caught in the downpour, seemed to be having trouble negotiating what looked like a plastic covered white bearskin rug out of the rain and into the back of the car. She wasn't making much progress however, and appeared to be embroiled in an altercation with another passenger inside the taxi.

Stan's eyebrows lifted. Carl was full of surprises. "You know her?"

"That's Lois."

"Ooh," Stanley's eyes twinkled in recognition of the name, "your sweetheart, right?"

Clark blushed, "Uh...She's...we..."

The exchange across the street had obviously become more heated because Lois's side of the conversation was now loud enough to hear;

"Look, the taxi's mine- it was waiting for me. I was picking something up. I was in the store for like, two minutes?"

They watched her listen to an answer. She gestured to herself with a free hand,

"Yes, of course _I understand_ it's not a chauffeur service. I'm saying YOU need to understand the taxi was mine in the first place?"

Again they watched for her reaction. Clark recognised a familiar expression of indignant disapprobation descend on her face,

"Yeah? Well, maybe I would! Except _I can't_, because you've squeezed _its considerable size_ into the backseat of my taxicab!"

Again, Stan raised his eyebrows. Lois was pointing,

"And you know what? There's no need to be rude. Asshole!"

"You weren't kidding about that temper of hers." She was fiery! Stan liked her. Sizing up the situation, Clark slapped Stan on the back,

"You better excuse me."

As the taxi pulled away, Lois was attempting to keep up with it in order to yell through the driver's window,

"And thanks alot, pal!"

The left heel on her shoe caught in the paving and snapped off, and she tottered to regain her balance whilst not dropping the unwieldy weight in her arms.

"_God_damnit!"

The rain was hitting the pavement so hard now, Clark had to shout over it to be heard;

"Is everything okay?"

Lois spun around, "Yargh!"

Clark was stood in front of her with a worried expression on his face. She didn't think she had ever been so glad to see him,

"Jesus! I wish you wouldn't sneak up on people like that."

"Sorry. Are you alright?"

She wiped bedraggled strands of hair out of her face and they both pretended she didn't have two dark, smudged, rivulets of mascara running right down her face.

"Yes." She hitched the large fur blanket, or whatever it was, in an attempt to prevent it from falling in the gutter and in the process she stumbled clumsily on her broken heel. "Thankyou."

"Where's your coat?"

"I kind of stepped out in a hurry. It wasn't raining an hour ago."

Clark was looking up and down the lonely street. "What are you doing here?"

She gave him a withering look, "I'm painting my fingernails Clark, what does it look like I'm doing?" With that, and to emphasize her point she waved her arm frantically at the passing traffic, "TAXIEEE!"

Clark gave her a small, indulgent smile while he shrugged off his coat. "Yes- I meant, what are you doing on this side of town," he quickly laid the coat over her shoulders, "at eleven thirty on a school night?"

"I could ask the same thing of you?"

He pointed over to where a neon sign, was flashing forlornly on and off. The 'A' wasn't working so it read; 'ST N'S BAR'.

"Stanley."

Underneath the lights, a man touched his brow and saluted at them. Lois and Clark gave a little wave back before he disappeared out of sight.

"Oh, right; Deep Throat." There was a pause before Lois added unconvincingly, "...Nice place."

Now it was just the two of them, Clark took off his rain-flecked glasses so he could see properly.

"So, what about you?"

Lois shifted whatever she was holding in order to get a better grip.

"What about me?"

"What are you doing here? I mean besides picking fights with the local populace."

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Yes! Nothing. And I wasn't picking a fight- that cab was mine. I was gazumped! I'm telling you Clark, the age of chivalry is dead!"

She pulled his coat tighter around her and relished its warmth as he stood in the pouring rain. He lifted his eyebrows and she scowled, pointing at him, "You're the exception that proves the rule."

He tried to look round her.

"What's that?"

She twisted away, "Nothing."

He laughed at her, "Lois? What is it?"

"I said, it's nothing."

"It doesn't look like nothing."

Her efforts to keep the bundle out of his sight kept disturbing it from under its plastic protection and she was forced to keep gathering it up.

"I'm...running an errand that I won't have time to do before the weekend, okay? Sheez Smallville! What's with the Spanish Inquisition?"

Errand? Clark frowned and scanned their immediate surroundings. The street was lined with old warehouses that looked derelict; all shuttered up and graffitied over. He moved his eyes along. There was a strip club, then Stan's Bar, a pool hall that looked like it had seen better days. And then...

Larry's 24 Hour Costume Hire. Clark cocked his head in thought and then flicked his eyes back to her arms. Lois could practically hear the cogs turning. She resigned herself to the inevitable.

"Lois?"

"Yes."

"That thing, that's nothing, that you're trying to hide behind your back?"

Wearily, she answered. "_Yeees_."

"Which, although it's incredibly endearing of you to do that, it's also actually kind of pointless, because I can, you know, see through walls?"

"_Yes_."

"That thing that looks sort of ...white and furry?"

She sighed. She could tell he was struggling to keep the joy out of his voice. "Is it...is that a giant rabbit suit?"

Dignified. Dignified was definitely the way to go; "No, actually. It's not."

Clark scratched his jaw, "Because it's just that I could swear I can see a couple of big, floppy ears there-"

"-_Not_ that it's of any interest to you..."

"-and, unless I'm very much mistaken,"

"...Or, in fact, any of your business..."

He peered closer to check, "-that looks like a cute little fluffy bobtail?"

"...Mister 'Why don't you just butt out of things that have very little to do with you' McSnoopypants."

"-Are those _paws_?"

Lois huffed irritably, "Oh for crying out loud. It's an _Easter Bunny_ costume, okay? Happy? TAXAY!"

"Easter. Bunny?"

"That's what I just said."

Clark put his hands in his pockets and swayed on his feet.

"Easter, Bunny."

"Yes, the Easter Bunny. See Clark, here on Earth, we have these quaint little traditions. You may not have heard of them, what with you being an alien invader and everything."

"Yeah, I've actually heard of the Easter Bunny, Lois..."

She continued "I mean, I realize it must be difficult for you, coming from a culture that struggles with the notions of personal happiness and, you know, having _fun_."

"...and in fact many of your other 'quaint little traditions'; I was, afterall, Smallville Easter Egg Hunt Champion two years in a row."

"Wow," Lois deadpanned, "If you win three times in a row, do you get to keep the trophy?"

"So, what I'm wondering at is _you_ being _in possession_ of an Easter Bunny costume?"

"What kind of events _did_ you celebrate on your planet, anyway? National Busybody Day? _Get-Your-Big-Nose-Out-Of-My-Face_ Week?"

"Ah, making flippant remarks about my home world and entire civilisation that is completely destroyed and lost for all time; a cunning but ultimately futile attempt to try and change the subject."

She rolled her eyes. "If you must know, it's for a story."

Clark looked at her and didn't bother keeping the note of scepticism out of his voice. "Really?"

She insisted, "Yes. I'm going undercover to expose the plight ... of ...costumed mascots...hired for ...special occasions; they're paid below minimum wage; work conditions are terrible- they get all hot inside, and you've just got the tiny mouth-hole to breath through, and that's obscured by the teeth...and it's difficult to pee."

Clark remained silent. She finished, informing him confidently,

"It's really terrible, and a _grossly_ under-reported area of labor exploitation."

"You're hiring a bunny costume," he narrowed his eyes, "for a story?"

"Yes."

"A story?"

She flicked her hair from beneath his collar, "It's this thing that journalists do sometimes."

Clark coughed nervously, "Because it's just..."

Lois looked up to find Clark looking uncomfortable.

"I know it's your sister's party this weekend, and I thought...I mean, I just wondered, if it might have something to do..."

"TAXI! GOD, the transportation system in this city is _pathetic_."

Clark dipped his head. She was looking down the street, facing away from him.

"Would you like a ride home?"

She didn't answer right away. Then her back said, "No, it's fine. Thankyou."

He watched her determinedly trying to hail a cab with one hand and hold onto to her bunny suit with the other. Because of her shoe, she was stood at a skew-whiff angle. She was completely drenched.

He shouted over, "My rates are excellent? And I'd never dream about gazumping you. Although that does sound like it might be fun."

She turned to him and he offered her a lopsided smile.

"I don't think it's a good idea."

"C'mon, you're soaked." He gestured at her, "And you're ruining your rabbit suit."

"It's a _bunny__costume_" she replied testily but he could see she was trying not to smile back.

"We either fly home together or we wait and share a cab where I can lecture you on the historical origins of Easter; your choice."

"I don't know..."

"The name 'Easter' is thought to derive from pagan culture, where there are accounts of spring festivals held in honor of the Anglo-Saxon goddess of fertility and rebirth; 'Eostre.' That's spelt; E O S T _R_ E. And in Old High German mythology..."

"Okay! Okay! I give in!"

Closing one eye she scrunched her nose at him.

"You're incorrigible, you know that?"

---

For the first time since the last time they had been at the Fortress, Clark flew her home. He hadn't bothered to change and so when he gently set her down on her balcony she had to remove her arms from where they had been wrapped underneath his jacket- comfortable and warm and happily nestled around his waist. She reluctantly drew back and he handed over her neatly folded costume. The rain had stopped.

"Thankyou." She suddenly remembered she was wearing his coat, and let it fall from her shoulders to give back to him.

"And thanks for this. Oh, wait a second." Clark frowned as she disappeared off inside. His face cleared as she came back through her doors and handed him his other coat, the one he'd left that night. She smiled softly, "I'm collecting them."

He chuckled. "Thanks."

Clearing her throat, she tucked a frizzed out curl behind an ear, "Uh, you know, you could come in- let your clothes dry off a little...?"

He gazed at her, and where he was usually so inscrutable, she could see how much he wanted to give in. "I better not."

Understanding, she nodded, "No."

She gave him a cheery smile. "So. I'll see you after the weekend, then?"

"Yeah."

She wished he would stop looking at her like that.

"Are you doing anything special? Going back to Smallville?"

The question seemed to snap him out of it, and a slow grin spread across his face, "Actually, no."

Cocking her head, she asked, confused, "What about your mom?"

He was raising an eyebrow at her, "She's on vacation with her boyfriend- in Aruba."

They shared a contemplative moment that began by marvelling at the ability of love to touch people no matter the circumstance, but ended with them both wondering at the wrongness of a world where septuagenarian widows were able to get it together enough to go gallivanting around on romantic mini-breaks, but somehow left the two of them to get their relationship kicks by stealing glances across a crowded office- and only then when they were sure the other one wasn't looking.

"You're spending Easter alone?"

"Oh no" he assured her, "I'll have my hands full keeping an eye on things; I wasn't kidding- it's usually pretty busy- nothing too serious though. A lot of petty theft at the parades, some personal appearances; that kind of thing."

She tucked the costume under her arm making the plastic crinkle. "Well in that case," she didn't bother hiding the tenderness in her voice, "I hope you have a peaceful weekend."

"You too."

---

Clark soared high over the city, just enjoying the view.

The day had been glorious; Metropolis resplendent in bright spring sunshine, and now, as late afternoon melted into early evening, the sun hung low in a cloudless sky. The parades were over and had passed mostly without incident. A couple of pick pockets to deliver into the hands of police officers, here and there. A few lost children to return- and one lost, and extremely grateful, shortsighted grandmother who had accidently mistaken the cabin of a Ferris wheel for a portable rest room. And now the crowds were going home.

Clark followed them out towards the suburbs. He arced closer to a particular street where he could see an easter egg hunt was being prepared. Tiny oval shapes, looking no bigger than pinheads, had been carefully dotted around the edges of the backyard of a large, family home. A specific sound caught his attention and he zeroed in to find the source.

There, beneath him, a figure was bounding around the lawn, taking foil-wrapped chocolate eggs out of a basket and hiding them underneath bushes and between the roots of trees. Silently, Clark descended and tapped her lightly on the shoulder. She spun round.

"Argh!" She had swivelled round with such force that it made her huge, upright, bunny ears wobble.

He gave her his best boyish grin, "Hello Lois."

She ripped off the head part of the costume so she could be angry at him in person, and it dangled down her back like a hood.

"What did I say about sneaking up on people?" She demanded. She was out of breath and a little sweaty, and Clark found himself completely beguiled at the sight of her. On her face, held in place with a piece of elastic was a pink, rubber nose from which protruded fluffy whiskers and then a set of gleaming buck teeth.

"So." He resisted an urge to press his finger to her nose to see if it honked or something, "This is the story?"

Her whiskers twitched in irritation; "_What are you doing here_?"

"An exposé on the under-reported plight of low-paid mascots, huh?" He nodded seriously. "Hard-hitting stuff. I have to tell you, Lois, this has 'Pulitzer-Prize winning' written all over it. I mean, golly;" he pointed at her basket, "look at all those tiny chocolate eggs you're being forced to carry. I hope an adequate risk-assessment has been conducted by your evil overlord mascot employers? Or are you going to take them down for their despicably remiss attitude to repetitive strain injury?"

She ripped off the plastic nose, "How did you find me?"

Clark shrugged nonchalantly. "Actually, I didn't. You found me. I was just doing my usual rounds and your heartbeat sounded accelerated, so-"

"My heartbeat?" Lois wanted to get this straight, "From up there," she pointed heavenward, "you can _hear_ my heartbeat?"

"Yeah." he replied easily.

Lois blinked. "I didn't realise your hearing was quite that sensitive."

"It's not a party piece or anything. It only works with you," he explained.

She let that sink in, not totally sure what to make of the implication. "Oh."

A little late, Clark realised he may have done the Superhero equivalent of oversharing. "Anyway." He gave her an appreciative once over; "The rabbit suit."

Off her filthy look he held his palms out to her and corrected himself, "I'm sorry; bunny costume."

In a patented Lois Lane trademark move, she haughtily put her hands to her hips. The fact that she was clad in a bunny costume while trying to look so serious had a gloriously comic effect. Her egg basket swung, not menacingly at all, off her forearm.

"What about it?"

"You know, not many people can carry off a good Bunny-look."

She narrowed her eyes at him, "Oh, you're just loving this aren't you?"

"But I'm impressed; you're really making it work."

"At least try to pretend you're not having quite so much fun."

"I mean, a polka-dot bowtie? And lesser people would have baulked at the checkered waistcoat."

She moved her weight from one foot to the other encouraging her bobtail to wibble. "I can't believe I'm taking heat off a man who runs around in underpants and tights."

Clark looked up in thought; "I'm not sure I've ever heard you complain about that before."

"Well," Lois nodded to herself, "that's because you have other...attributes that deflect attention away from the ridiculousness. And you're_ used_ to running around looking preposterous. Some of us don't have that luxury."

He dropped his voice, "Wait a minute, you're saying this isn't a regular thing for you?"

She slowly hand clapped her paws together in sarcastic appreciation; "Oh, very funny. Very droll."

Clark was shaking his head sadly. "How disappointing."

She stabbed at his chest. "You know what? Scoff all you want. I'm upholding an important family tradition."

He tilted his head, "Your family dress up as rabbits?"

She tilted her head to mirror him, "Not every weekend, no."

"So." He wiggled his finger at her and blew out his cheeks, "Am I to understand, this _isn't_ for an undercover exposé?"

"If you must know, I'm here in lieu of Hoppy."

Oh, this just got better and better. Clark worked hard to keep a straight face.

"Hoppy?"

"Yes; Hoppy. Every year Dad dresses up as Hoppy the Easter Bunny, and hides Easter eggs all over the neighborhood." She gestured out to the wide open space of the garden. "Unfortunately, Dad's golf commitments got moved around this year, and he couldn't make it. My sister has all the children over for games, and her husband spends all day in the kitchen. So."

Clark nodded, wanting to make sure Lois understood he appreciated the gravity of the situation.

Lois sniffed stoically, "Looked like no Hoppy for the kids."

"Until you stepped in; you're Hoppy."

She touched her pink bowtie, "Hoppy's girlfriend; Honey."

Clark considered that, "I thought _Bugs Bunny's _girlfriend was Honey?" He lifted his eyebrows, "I guess it's true what they say about rabbits."

"Oh, go ahead, laugh it up, Kansas. But if this ever gets out, keep two facts in mind; that I possess the _mother_ of all blackmail secrets against you, AND I work at an international newspaper."

He grinned widely at her but Clark was more than amused; he was utterly charmed, and as he looked into her eyes he started to lose himself there. She was looking back at him, all flushed and annoyed, and unable to read his expression. She couldn't know he was fighting against the overwhelming desire to grab her by her ridiculous pink bowtie and kiss her senseless. He moved closer and she seemed to understand, because her heartbeat was racing.

They were interrupted by the sound of children's voices. Lois snapped her head in the direction of the house and then back at him. She started to shoo him and hissed quickly, "GO AWAY!"

"Why, what's going on?"

She grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him to try and push him off. Her voice was a strained whisper; "_GO. AWAY_!"

"What's the big deal?"

"Get out of here before anyone sees you!"

"Lois?-"

She looked up into his eyes seriously, "If you don't go away right now, I swear, I...I...I... ummm..." Suddenly an idea came to her; "I will not wear underwear for a week, and I'll keep dropping my purse and bending over, right in front of you! Every day!"

The amusement went from his face as his eyes darkened. But Lois was not looking at him. From the front of the house, there was the distinctive sound of running feet coming fast toward them. It was too late.

Lois was still pushing uselessly against his chest when a stampede of children rounded a juniper bush and chorused in heady amazement at the sight that greeted them; "SUPERMAAAN!"

In moments they were surrounded by a collection of small children in a variety of ages, shapes and sizes. Underneath her breath she informed him, just in case there was any doubt, "_I hate you_."

Hands waved maniacally in the air, as the kids jostled for space and attention, and shouted over each other- desperate to be the one picked. There followed a barrage of questions;

"Uh uh me! Superman!"

"Superman! Pick me!"

"Do you get paper cuts?"

"If someone hit you with a baseball bat, would you feel it?"

"If you got shot, would you feel it?"

"If you flew into the sun, would you feel it?"

"What's the moon like?"

"Is it true it's made of cheese?"

"Have you ever been to Mars?"

From the back of the group a small voice piped up, "Aunt Lois is in love with you!"

As if the needle had been taken off the record, everyone stopped. Into the silence Lois recovered enough to give a high, tinkly laugh.

In embarrassed horror, she waved away the suggestion, "Phoebe!" and shook her head dismissively at Clark, "Kids!"

But Phoebe's older sister, Elizabeth, chimed in excitedly; "She made a Valentine's Day card for you for Valentine's!"

Clark raised his eyebrows at Lois for confirmation. Flustered, she explained to him; "I didn't...make my _own_ card; I was...helping ...with scissors."

Elizabeth frowned and looked up, "No, aunt Lois, don't you remember? You stuck Superman's picture on a card and drew love hearts around it."

Lois opened her mouth to say something and her lips moved but somehow words wouldn't come to her rescue.

Phoebe, trying to be helpful and prod her aunt's memory, prompted; "You signed it 'Love from your future wife'!"

Blushing furiously, Lois managed a strangled "Girls!" She patted their heads. "Geez, I wish your recall for your three times table was as good as your memory for the events of," she looked at Clark and intoned for his benefit, "_years and years_ ago."

Her nieces were confused.

"It was _this _year."

"Are you in love with Aunt Lois?"

It was Clark's turn to be ambushed. The children's' collective attention shifted from one squirming adult to the other. This was a fun game!

"Well, I..." Clark looked to Lois for help. Before she could answer a young woman with dark brown hair swishing around in a loose ponytail, and sharing a certain resemblance to Lois, appeared.

"Ohmygosh, Superman!"

Lucy. Lois sent up a quiet prayer; "Please someone, just kill me. Kill me now." This could only get worse.

Lucy Lane-Feldman wiped floury hands on the back of her jeans, "We weren't expecting you!"

"Well ma'am, I happened to be in the area, and there were reports of a giant rabbit terrorising a suburban neighborhood; I thought I should check it out."

"Lois said you couldn't make it!" She winked at Clark before uttering out the side of her mouth; "She doesn't seem to be having any luck with the men in her life at the moment."

Through a closed jaw, Lois clenched, "Lucy!"

"Are you staying? We have plenty of food! How about some delicious strawberry cheesecake? Lois made it!"

That got his attention.

Lois got in between her sister and Clark, "NO, he can't stay! You _would not believe_ the correlation between religious holidays and crime statistics, Lucy." She faced the children and shrugged apologetically, "Sorry kids!" before turning to tell him; "Thanksforcomingbye!"

But Clark wanted to talk more about the cheesecake. "Lois made it? Really?" He was really quite enjoying this insight into Lois Lane: domestic goddess.

He gave her a look of reappraisal. She gave him a look of '_You_ are _dead meat_.'

Lucy nodded brightly, "Oh yeah. It's sort of sad, actually. She spent months perfecting the recipe, and then this Clark guy couldn't make it."

"_Strawberry_ cheesecake?" it seemed an important detail but Clark couldn't put his finger on why.

Lucy smiled fondly at her older sister, "With ingredients! I told my husband; Lois baking- it must be love."

Lois's eyes widened at the guilelessness of her sister. Lucy flapped her hands at her,

"C'mon Lo, it's not like he's here to hear it."

Clark fidgeted uncomfortably.

Lucy continued, "Superman won't tell him." She shot him a fierce look to confirm that. Clark shook his head quickly, 'No.' Lois's sister was quietly intimidating.

Lois closed her eyes and dearly wished her sister would just. stop. _talking_.

But she didn't.

"Besides," Lucy gave Lois a little nudge, "I'm sure there are ways you can make it worth Superman's while."

Lois was mortified. There were. No words.

"Oh, Lois- I'm kidding. We all know Clark's the guy you're pining over."

Lois rubbed her forehead in disbelief, "Oh, Jesus."

She slapped her hand over her mouth almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth, but it was too late. There was an audible gasp as the children, shocked and disgusted, all stared at the adult who had profaned inappropriately in front of them. It was then that Clark stepped in, right on cue, to add,

"...Is what the disciples said, when they found the empty tomb. Just like you better find the rest of those eggs before I do! Better run; I have X Ray vision, you know!"

Children scattered in all directions, running and whooping in delight at the idea of their hero joining in their game.

Lucy cocked her head at this whole other side to Superman. She was impressed.

"Nice save! Wow! What a natural!" She looked back at Lois whilst nodding at Superman; "Total husband material!"

Lois shot her a death glare. _Shut up! Shut up! Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!_

Happily oblivious, Lucy flicked her fringe in the air, "I'm kidding! Superman's not going to marry you, when would he have time to save the world?"

She used her words lightly but they had hit close to home, and Clark saw that Lois was visibly upset. He spoke kindly to Lucy,

"I think Clark would have something to say about that, too."

Lois gave him a grateful smile to say she appreciated his effort.

"But, speaking of saving the world...I better..." Clark did the swoopy hand thing. Lois nodded. Lucy was intrigued by all this secret code stuff between her sister and Superman.

"It was lovely to meet you all."

"Oh, you too! You're much taller in real life." Lucy gave him an admiring gaze. "And your costume's...very tight...may I just...?" Clark watched as she reached out to feel a bicep...

"Ow!"

She was rubbing the upper part of the arm nearest to Lois's elbow.

"What?" Lucy proceeded to watch her sister's face and seemed to be trying to lip read. She managed a stilted, "Oh, I just remembered I have to ...go...do...something...someplace."

Lois rolled her eyes at Lucy's complete lack of subterfuge skills. Eventually, she took one of Clark's hands in both of hers.

"Nice meeting you."

Clark opened his mouth but Lois spoke for him, "Yeah bye!"

Her sister left and they shared a look and both breathed easier.

But Lucy was back and speaking very quickly- even for a Lane, "Actually, before I go, I don't know if Lois mentioned this to you but I'm on the Parent-Teacher Association at Brookfield elementary and it would be completely amazing if...

"Bye Lucy!"

Not so much taking the hint, as being beaten with the blunt end of it, Lucy backed off,

"Anyway- Lois has my number. Hopefully see you soon! Dale! Put that down! I thought you said your mom said you couldn't eat nuts!"

_Finally_ there were left alone. She shook her head apologetically,

"I am _so_ sorry about my sister." There was a beat. "And my niece. And my other niece. And my nephew. And their friends."

They smiled goofily at each other. "Don't worry about it; you did try to warn me off."

"I guess you forget what an effect you can have on people. I think you just made their year."

He let out a little breath. "Anyway, I should..." He lifted his eyes to the sky.

"Yeah, you should."

He set himself to go but couldn't resist. "Strawberry cheesecake?"

"Shut up."

He smiled at her, all too pleased with himself, and was about to take off when Lois stopped him.

"Oh, Clark, wait."

She rummaged around in her basket of eggs. "Here. Happy Easter."

"Happy Easter, Lois."


	5. Chapter 4

**Dudes! Who knew that a chapter originally described in my notes as; 'Clark and Lois go on date. Sort of' could turn into such a beast of behemothic proportions? Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

Over heaped bowls of fruit loops and in between reruns of Sesame Street, Lois spent the next morning trying to convey to her sister's children the value of discretion and tact- paying special attention to why it was important to not blurt out personal information to people when aunt Lois was attempting to catch your eye. She was not sure how much of the message had actually been taken on board; the twins were mainly interested in how amenable Superman would be to giving piggyback rides at their birthday party next month, and Phoebe was intrigued by the possibility of Elmo and Superman being friends because she had seen them both on tv. Lois tried to explain that there were different kinds of tv whilst avoiding unnecessarily upsetting her niece with knotty details like the fact Elmo was a puppet whereas Superman was real. A more worrying development was that Elizabeth had taken to referring to Clark as Uncle Superman, a term which she longhanded, whenever Lois was in the room, to 'your boyfriend; Uncle Superman'. 

After breakfast, as she sipped coffee and helped Lucy pack plastic take-out boxes with leftover party food for her to take home, Lois found herself in the odd position of defending Clark against himself. She reassured a concerned Lucy her love-life was under control but her sister remained doubtful,

"I don't know Lo, Clark sounds like a wonderful guy... but you should've seen the way Superman was looking at you yesterday..."

It was one of those situations crying out for Lois to stand-up, bestride the tabletop defiantly, and announce that the funny thing there was that, get this, Clark and Superman were actually the same person! And although, yes, it was true they were in love, it didn't matter anyway, because they had agreed to not do anything about anything. Ever. And how about that, huh? Regrettably, such a course of action was hardly the example of tight-lipped taciturnity she was trying to teach the kids. So she kept quiet and retroactively appreciated Clark's fortitude in managing to keep his own counsel and hold out on her for as long as he had.

Once they were finished in the kitchen, Lois picked up her bags and kissed everyone goodbye- waiting patiently at the door for Phoebe to locate both family cats so that they could get a kiss too. She hugged her sister tightly, and drove back into the city.

In contrast to Saturday's sunshine, Sunday was a grey kind of a day. The air was stuffy and warm, and as she rolled the car to join the end of a long line of holiday traffic Lois glanced up at an overcast sky. Droplets dotted her windscreen as it started to rain. She pressed her windows down to allow fresh air to circulate, and the smell of damp asphalt and rubber wafted in to the car. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel in double-time to her wipers.

For a couple of miles she crawled alongside a Volvo station wagon in the lane to her immediate left. There were two children, a boy and a girl, sat in the back who must have been about the twins age, and they pressed their freckled faces against the glass and blew breath clouds until the humidity of the day steamed up the inside of the vehicle and their parents had to lower the windows too.

Lois' mind wandered as the traffic inched forward at a snail's pace. It would be so great for Clark to swoop in right about now. She fantasized about him spotting her in the milieu again; magically appearing out of the clouds to pick up her car, remove her from the gridlock, and plop her gently down in the parking space outside her building. Really quite taken with the idea, she spent a few minutes seriously thinking of ways to make that scenario more convenient for Clark. She should ask him if, for future reference, it would be helpful if she made herself easier to spot; maybe she could paint a bullseye on the roof of her car or something?

But maybe that was unnecessary; perhaps this was the perfect opportunity to test out the heart-thing again? What had Clark said? Something about noticing it because it was accelerated? She put her hand to her heart. It was beating at a normal pace. She quickly brought her hand back away, feeling ridiculous. And was it even possible to accelerate your own heartbeat? Lois was not sure if it was, or even that if you could- that it was medically advised...but it would make getting in touch with him so much more expedient. Maybe it was safer if you practised first- perhaps she could learn to control it at will? Couldn't some people slow down their pulse rate; yogi masters, or tv magicians? Or escape artists! Houdini! Wait...didn't Houdini die after messing around with his heartbeat? Or was that holding his breath? She couldn't remember. And she wasn't even sure if Clark was responding to an increase in rate anyway; maybe it was a change in the beat volume, or frequency?

Maybe she should just forget about it. So she was caught up in a little heavy traffic; it wasn't like she was in any actual danger. Was signalling him for her own personal benefit really an appropriate use of Clark's time? Would he mind? Maybe it was out of his hands; what if it was like Star Trek and there was a superhero Prime Directive? 'Thou shalt not waste ye time helping out yea girl thou hast a thing for'; something like that. She really didn't know what the rules were, there. He'd never said anything. Then again, it was only _after_ she'd spent the last three years falling head over heels in love with him that he'd mentioned Kryptonians could be funny about fraternizing with humankind, so with Clark, who knew?

Blowing out her cheeks, she wondered what the hold-up was. She swung an elbow onto the window frame and leant out to get a better view but all Lois could see were cars disappearing into the distance. She decided to pass the time with some music.

Retrieving her handbag from the passenger-side footwell, she tipped its contents out onto the seat and sifted around, looking for her ipod before remembering she had left it on charge on her dresser. She checked the glove compartment for any loose CDs knocking around and found nothing accept a CD-Rom version of Webster's Dictionary, which was a gift from Clark and she'd lost the cover to. Oh well- she'd just have to make do with whatever was already in the player. She pressed eject and twisted her head to read off the disc. The Pretenders. Her fingertips touched the album back in to the slot and on a low volume the opening bars of the first track started to play; The Wait. How appropriate. She nudged the car forward to keep up with the vehicle in front, absently half-humming half-mumbling along to the lyrics,

"Something, something, something, something, something, something hurts. I said a-something, something, something, something, something, something hurts."

She had been listening to this song for approximately all of her adult life and she had no idea what the words were.

"Hi."

Lois, startled, turned to her left and the direction the greeting had come from, and ended up practically face-to-face with the children in the Volvo station wagon next door. She moved round in her seat to look behind her and see who they were talking to. Finding it was her, she gave them a polite wave and smile,

"Hello."

They had folded their arms over the sill of the car window and were slouched against them, looking at her. The boy said, "I'm bored."

"Nice to meet you, Bored. I'm Lois."

He rewarded her with a toothy grin.

"You have really pretty hair."

Lois gave the girl a nod of appreciation, "Thanks."

"Kids," a rather frazzled-looking mom was messing with the tuning dials on their stereo. Without looking up she warned, "don't bother the nice lady."

"It's fine." Lois rolled her car level with the passenger window and because it seemed impolite to be so close and not to, introduced herself,

"Lois Lane."

They both leant across the gap between their cars and shook hands, "I'm Catherine, this is my husband, Phil. Walker." The man driving made a courteous 'Hello' face.

Catherine regarded Lois. "Lois Lane? As in, Lois Lane and Superman?" She lifted a copy of the Planet from her lap, "From the newspaper?"

Lois nodded yes, and the Walkers turned to themselves, whispering excitedly in hushed tones. Catherine pressed her hands to her heart,

"Wow! We've never met anyone famous, before!"

Lois demurred graciously, flopping her hands in the air, "Please. Famous? I could hardly call myself 'famous'..."

"We all love Superman! Don't we kids? James has all the figures!"

The little boy brandished a blue and red posable figurine whilst Lois warmed to her theme, "...Maybe 'local personality' would be more accurate; you know, someone the school alumni magazine might run a special feature on- 'Ex-Student Journalist Making Her Own Headlines'- that kind of thing..."

"Sarah, show Miss Lane your socks!"

The girl's head disappeared from view as she slunk down in her seat to display her socks so that Lois could see- they were pink with a little cowlicked caricature of Clark's face on them. Lois was still talking, trying to better define her place in the social strata, "...although I _was_ once asked to open the refurbished computer area of my local library..."

Then she caught sight of the socks waving around in mid-air.

"Hey, can you get those in a size seven?"

Abruptly, Catherine leant over to Lois and lowered her voice solicitously, "Can I ask you a question? And don't feel you have to answer if it's a breach of confidence, or anything."

Lois prepared herself to fend off some of the more popular Superman-orientated questions that typically came her way;

Is he as handsome in real life? (Yes.)

Have you ever seen him eat? (Yes.)

Is it true he landed at Roswell? (What?_ No_.)

Does he think peace can be achieved in the Middle East? (Of course.)

And finally, and usually coyly brought up by ladies of a certain age; is he a good kisser? To which Lois enjoyed answering enigmatically, 'Now_ that_ would be telling.'

Instead Catherine opened up the Planet's puzzle page. "Any chance you know the answer to today's Sudoku?"

Lois chuckled at herself before answering seriously, "I'm afraid we lowly reporters are not privy to that kind of information."

The other woman smiled back, "Worth a try" and returned to fiddling with the dials on their stereo. Lois picked up her cell phone from the upturned contents on the passenger seat and turned it on.

"Mom, can we listen to some music?"

"I'm trying, honey, but until the aerial's fixed we're stuck with whatever we can get."

"I hate it when it's just talking," James sulked.

"Well, that will teach you not to treat this car like the General Lee, and maybe next time you'll think twice before you slide over the aerial and snap it off."

Lois watched James bow his head in contrition and couldn't stifle a small smile. She nodded at their dashboard, "Pick up anything about the traffic?"

Catherine shrugged, "The last travel update said a Hazmat vehicle's been involved in a collision and has started leaking. They're not sure how long it's going to take to clear."

"Any word on whether Superman's on his way?"

"Actually," Catherine bit her lip and looked like she might be about to burst, "I was just going to ask you the same question! I thought you might be..." she gave a nervous point at Lois's hand, "calling in a favor?"

Lois looked at the phone in her hand before she understood. "Oh, no. Sorry."

She held the phone up, "Just checking my messages. Besides, he, uh," she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, "never carries a phone."

In her head, Lois continued, 'Yeah, he has philosophical issues, and he's really quite touchy about it'. She settled for adding; "No pockets."

Catherine smiled back and thumbed the radio, "Looks like we're on our own then; says he was last seen at a mining accident in Nigeria."

Lois looked out ahead ruefully. So much for his peaceful weekend.

"What are you listening to?"

Lois removed the CD and held it up to the window so that James could see. Sarah squinted at her timidly, "Can you turn up the sound so we can hear? Please?"

Their mother turned in her seat, "Guys, c'mon. Don't be rude. I'm sure Miss Lane is perfectly happy with the volume as it is."

Lois reassured her, "Don't worry about it." She addressed the children, "I think I can see movement up ahead. Who here knows the words to The Wait?"

There was probably just time enough for them to listen to one song.

---

**Two hours later...**

"Gonna use my ARRRMS, gonna use my LEGS, gonna use my STAHYYYLE, gonna use my side-stehep. Gonna use my _FIN_GURRRS, gon use mah, mah, mah, magin-ayshun, woah-hoh..."

Lois, making up for any musical deficiency in technique with verve and volume, sang along to her stereo system, miming the actions of Brass In Pocket in an original interpretation of the words by wiggling the appropriate bits of her body. In her best Chrissie Hynde impersonation she crooned,

"Cause Claaark, gonna make you seeee! S'nobody else here; no-wun like me. I'm speshul!"

Their cars hadn't moved so Lois could hold out her hairbrush through both sets of windows to her backing vocalists; the Walker children.

"Speshul!"

She brought the brush back to her mouth, "So speshul!"

"Speshul!"

"I gotta have some-a your attenshun, give it to me! And now everyone together! Cause Claaark! Gon make you seee..."

---

**Later that evening...**

"...s'nobody else here; no-wun like me. I'm speshul- speshul! So speshul- speshul! I gotta have some-a your attenshun, give it to me..."

Lois sang to herself under her breath as she padded around her kitchen in bare feet trying to locate a corkscrew. She had finally arrived home mid-afternoon after two more hours stuck on the Interstate, which, it turned out, was enough time for the CD to get back round to Brass in Pocket for an impressive sixth rendition AND exchange addresses with the Walkers for Christmas cards- as well as swap insider information about where to find the most reasonably priced Superman-themed merchandise. As the traffic in front of them started to separate, they had bid a fond farewell to each other- which included reciprocal good lucks to fix the car stereo and to work things out with this guy Clark they'd been singing about, respectively.

Once home, after ironing and re-hanging the bunny costume, Lois had decided it was hightime to make some inroads into The List; a permanent set of random instructions tacked onto the fridge door which was subtitled; 'Things to do when I get time to do them'. She vacuumed the rug under the couch, gathered up and sorted magazines and newspapers into piles for recycling, and flicked open her laptop to reply to emails. After checking the Planet's international news site to find out about the Nigerian tunnel collapse- Superman's intervention ensured all the miners made it out alive- on a whim, she googled the Houdini thing. It turned out Houdini didn't die of an irregular heart rhythm or by holding his breath afterall, but of peritonitis from a ruptured appendix. Or, it was muted- for the sake of thoroughness presumably- that he may have been poisoned by Spiritualists with a grudge. She added a little note to the bottom of The List; don't piss off the Spiritualists.

Saving the biggest job to last, she had spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning out the refrigerator- only breaking off to answer the door, twice, to find Richard White inexplicably on her doorstep, twice. He'd somehow blagged tickets for the French opera night at the Met. Having turned him down, twice, she'd taken a bath, painted her toenails, and changed into a pair of pyjama bottoms and one of those cute little Superman tees with the S shield logo that were so popular, before settling down in front of the television to watch a network showing of one of her secret all-time top five movies; Mannequin.

She'd also tried not to think too much about how Clark was spending his Sunday.

Now, face still glowing from the bath, she was schlepping around the kitchen during the ad break, opening drawers and trying to find a corkscrew for a bottle of cheap Merlot. Her hair was piled untidily on her head and loose strands fell over her face as she bent over to check the shelf underneath her sink. She hadn't made dinner but instead put together a meal based on the hotchpotch of party nibbles from Lucy and a random combination of foodstuff that fell into a category of; has been in fridge for longer than strictly advised but still edible and therefore not to be thrown out on principle. In the end she'd enjoyed an agreeable, if unusual, supper of eggplant pockets filled with herbed ricotta cheese and dijon ham, half a cucumber, a microwavable Mac N Cheese tv dinner and a handful of crab puffs.

All that was left to be finished off was a can of Extra Creamy Ready-Whip and some anchovy canapés. She was sure they'd be perfect washed down with some red, if only she could find her friggin...Aha! She triumphantly held up the corkscrew having discovered it hiding behind the cheese grater.

Carrying everything on a tray she set the food down on her coffee table and flopped back onto her couch. Leaning forward she chose a delicious-looking canapé with one hand and picked up the can of cream in the other. She looked at the canapé, then at the can, and then back at the canapé again. Decisively, and with a flourish, she covered it with a gravity-defying swirl of cream and popped the entire confection into her mouth. It was an interesting taste sensation if you ignored the inherent fishiness. She topped another couple of canapés before the movie came back on at her favorite scene- where Jonathan realises his creation has come to life.

There was a knock at the door. She ignored it. There was another knock, louder this time. She stabbed the remote at the tv in irritation, turning it off just as Kim Cattrall was running around the department store workshop- she did have a reputation to protect afterall. Wincing, she got up off the couch. Her ass muscles were killing her; too much bouncing around hiding candy without any proper warming up. 'Must get down to the gym and work out more' she advised herself before grabbing the plate of nibbles and popping another into her mouth- her tongue reaching for and missing the last lick of cream on her top lip. It was probably Richard with those opera tickets again. He was sweet and everything but he really needed to learn to accept 'No' as an answer. She swung the door open,

"Look, Richard, I appreciate the- O-Oh!"

It wasn't Richard, it was Clark. He took off his glasses before speaking softly,

"Hi."

His appearance took her by surprise because it was the first time she'd seen him in civilian clothes since she had been holding a tissue to his nose in an Alaskan diner. He was dressed simply in tan chinos, with a pair of dark leather sandals on his feet, and a white button down shirt that he'd rolled the sleeves to and left open at the collar. He looked totally hot.

She recovered sufficiently to manage a cool "Hi" back.

Clark was similarly momentarily distracted by the sight of Lois. There was a smudge of frosting or something on the side of her mouth and he had to resist an urge to lean in and wipe it off for her. With his lips.

He looked at her carefully, "Were you ...expecting someone?"

"Oh, no." Lois shook her head emphatically and then stopped. "Well, yeah. I mean I've just..." She sighed and her eyes fluttered- she started again; "I thought you were Richard."

"Oh." She could swear she saw him flinch. "Is this a bad time?" He hooked a thumb at the air, "I can go?"

"No don't! I mean, you don't have to. Leave." She folded and then unfolded her arms. "He had a couple of spare tickets off Julian for the opera tonight and uh, came by to ask me if I wanted to go. With him." She blinked. "Richard, I mean. Not Julian." She trailed off, "That would be silly."

"And you didn't?"

Lois opened her hands making the 'ta-da!' gesture as if to say, I'm stood in front of you, right? "No."

Clark thought about it. "It's Massenet tonight?"

"I guess."

"The Orchestre de Paris?"

"I believe so."

Not saying anything more, Clark just nodded, and slipped his hands in his pockets.

"Can I come in?"

"Oh, sure." Lois moved back against the door to let him by. "Can I get you something? Would you like some wine? A canapé?"

She offered the plate up to him, "They're anchovy?"

They looked delicious but on closer inspection seemed to be covered in some kind of strange mousse topping? He declined. "No. Thankyou."

"So. What can I do for you?"

She watched him rub the back of his neck, "I just wanted to... The thing is...I wanted to ask you something..." He took a deep breath and then at the last minute his voice changed, "I'm sorry, but is that _whipped cream _on the canapés?"

She looked at the tray in her hand, "Um..."

He shook his head in an effort to refocus, "Anyway, that's not the question, that doesn't matter."

He held her gaze. "I came over because I wanted to talk to you. It's about yesterday."

Lois closed her eyes as if she'd been expecting this.

Clark went on, "At your sister's."

Lois looked pained, like she was preparing herself for bad news. She whimpered, "I knew it."

"You ...did?"

She admitted, "I was afraid this would happen."

"You. Were?"

Lois slowly opened one eye, then the other, "This about the Valentine's Day card, isn't it?"

Clark frowned, "Well-"

"I'm gonna _kill_ Phoebe!"

"Uh-"

"Because listen!" Lois rolled her lips inwards and paused as if weighing things up before confessing in a rush of a breath; "Okay, I admit it; I signed it 'Love from your future wife.'"

"Lois,"

"But I'm not a crazy stalker weirdo lady, okay?"

Recalling the Walkers, and the pink socks, she protested, "I don't go around buying merchandise and pink clothing with your face on it, like some people do!"

Despite himself his eyes fell on her shirt and she remembered what she was wearing. She self-consciously fingered the S Shield logo.

"This? Was on sale. Anyway, Valentine's; it was like," she phffed, "February, right? Months ago. We barely knew each other!"

Clark said nothing, trying to gauge the best time to jump into the conversation she was having with herself. Sometimes it was better to just let her run out of steam. She raised her shoulders,

"Well okay, fine; we'd known each other for a few ...years, but not _known_ known. Not like I _know_ know now; I was still very much in my crush phase and...that's really your fault..."

"Lois-"

She rambled on, "...And besides! I sign that way to lots of people...it's just this cute thing I do...why, just the other day, I wrote to my bank manager, and at the end I put-"

"It's not about the Valentine's Card."

"Oh." That stopped her in her tracks. "It's not?"

"Uh, no."

"Oh." There was a moment's pause as Lois's eyes flicked to the side and back.

"In that case, please disregard everything I just said."

"It's actually about the cheesecake."

"Right, of course." Lois nodded her head sagely as if she understood perfectly.

The nodding stopped. "What?"

"The cheesecake."

She frowned, not really following. "_What_?"

Clark looked at her seriously, "I really like strawberry cheesecake."

Well, that was why she had made it. She nodded once, intoning deliberately, "I know."

But Clark was staring back at her even more intently, "I mean; Clark really likes strawberry cheesecake."

Lois looked to one side and mused quietly, "This conversation's very strange."

Stressing the word meaningfully, he repeated; "_Clark_ really likes strawberry cheesecake."

"You know you just referred to yourself twice in the third person, right?"

Clark let out a breath and started again. "Yesterday, when your sister said you had made cheesecake; I knew there was something important about that- but I couldn't figure out what."

Lois gave her shoulders a little shake, "What's so special about cheesecake?"

"I never told you that it's my favorite dessert."

He wasn't making any sense. She better walk him through this. Speaking slowly and clearly, and using hand actions, she explained,

"You didn't have to; I just know. You have it at Le Bistro's all the time?"

Suddenly a thought crossed her mind. She stepped forward to feel his temperature, "Are you feeling okay? How many Easter eggs have you eaten today?" She held his face between her hands so she could inspect his pupils for dilation, "Did you go _anywhere_ near any green glowy ones?"

He patiently removed her fingers from his face and gently held her wrists in his hands. "I haven't eaten any kryptonite Easter eggs, Lois; I'm fine. I'm trying to tell you _I_ never told you that cheesecake is my favorite dessert- I mean, before."

Lois was quiet for a moment. "Clark. I just have no clue what you're talking about."

He let go of her so he could gesture to himself, "You were making that cheesecake for me, inviting me to the party, going to that effort- all before you knew I was Superman."

"Okay."

"You were doing it just for Clark."

Lois couldn't help but feel the man was reading _waaay_ too much into party food preparation. "It was really no trouble."

"Lucy said you had been perfecting a recipe for months."

Lois shrugged it off, "I tried it out a couple of times."

"But just for Clark."

Despite her outward display of sangfroid, she found it hard to hold his gaze when he was talking like this. "I guess."

"Just for Clark...just this guy at work. Your friend."

"Yeah, so?"

"It made me think about things."

She could feel his eyes burning into her so she kept her gaze at the floor where it was safe.

"When I said we couldn't see each other anymore, when I said I thought that was a bad idea- I was thinking about myself. About how hard I was finding it to just be normal around you again..."

She swallowed, "Clark, I know I got upset about that, but you don't have to justify anything to me."

"No, Lois, just listen ...I realised that it was different for me. To just force myself away- it was easier. Because I was only giving up one person; I was only ever giving up you."

Lois didn't want to talk about this anymore. "Clark-"

"And I guess, before the cheesecake, I never thought about what it must be like for you; that you weren't just losing one person. You were losing everything we'd been before I told you."

"Really, it's fine..."

"I wasn't just taking away...me; the new Clark. I was taking away the old Clark, too."

They were quiet until Lois breathed, "I never really had him."

Clark breathed back, "Yes, you did."

A moment lingered between them. Lois broke it by rubbing her bare arm. "Yeah, well..."

Clark looked at his feet, "So listen, I came here to ask you something."

Lois folded her arms and looked up.

"I was wondering if I could...make it up to you?"

She cleared her throat so her voice wouldn't falter again. "Make it up to me?"

He nodded. "I want to take you somewhere. Will you come with me?"

"Where?"

Lois watched a grin slowly develop at the corners of his mouth. "It's kind of a surprise."

She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to get things straight.

"Are you...are you asking me out on a date?"

Clark blinked a couple of times, not wanting to give the wrong answer. "No."

Traitorously, Lois' shoulders slumped a little. "Oh."

"Well. Not a _date_ date- in fact, I'd go so far as to call it a not-date date."

"A not-date date." Circumspection laced her voice.

He nodded, "I'm talking about a strictly platonic evening out- between friends; like we did before. I mean like, me as Clark."

"An evening out- me and you?"

"Yes."

Lois unfolded her arms and pressed her hands together thoughtfully. "I'm pretty sure that that kind of thing's forbidden under the terms of The Agreement."

"As one of the undersigned, I'm making an amendment to The Agreement."

Lois was suspicious. She was not going down this road again. She moved her head to look around him, "Are you sure you've not got a geranium hidden behind your back, there?"

"Uh, no."

"Because if you have, I can't be held responsible if I end the night lamping you with it."

Clark showed her his empty hands, "No- no hidden agendas, or attached strings, or arbitrary friendship agreements; absolutely no potted plants of any kind."

They held each other's gaze, hers shifting from one flinty eyeball to the other. He was serious. She couldn't work him out.

"Look, if this is about the cheesecake, I can make you some more cheesecake?"

Clark closed his eyes. "It's not about the cheesecake. It's about me and you remembering we don't have to live our lives like the protagonists in some kind of Greek tragedy."

She let out a sigh at him.

"Will you come?"

"Suppose I say 'yes'?"

The intensity on his face disappeared in a second as he beamed at her, "Excellent! Ready to go?"

"Wait, what, now?" Lois looked down at herself, "But...I've not got anything on my feet...I'm wearing my pyjamas!"

"You can change. There's no rush."

"But...but...What should I wear? I have nothing to wear!" There was a beat. "Where are we going?"

The intensity was back on his face. "Do you have anything suitable for the beach?"

She cocked her head at him.

---

Clark held Lois lightly at the waist as they gently descended out of a golden sky. She had her arms folded lazily around his neck and a pair of flip-flop sandals dangled from her fingers. She slipped them on once he had set them down and she could feel warm sand beneath her toes.

She was wearing the first likely-looking thing she'd grabbed out of the closet- a simple, lemon, flower-print dress she'd bought for Perry's fortieth wedding anniversary last summer. She'd fastened her hair simply at the back with a clip- experience teaching her there was little point fussing too long over style when he wanted to take them somewhere fast. Now, strands loosened by flight fell lightly around her face. In the evening sunshine, as she straightened out her dress and he re-rolled a sleeve, on another night, on another beach, they could have been mistaken for honeymooners. As it was, they made a handsome couple.

Lois looked around. Wherever they were, they had flown over ocean to get here. Palm trees edged the white sand of the beach and swayed on a breeze. Out at sea, the sun hung low in the sky. Inland, a colonial style villa was tiered on a couple of levels. A terraced patio overlooked where they stood.

"Oh my God. Clark. What is this place?"

"An island about two hundred miles from the Continental United States." He gestured at their surroundings, "Somewhere we can be ourselves- somewhere we can relax- if I remember, that's what you suggested, right?"

Lois shook her in wonder, "I really need to broaden my horizons; there was me imagining getting you a baseball cap and a fake nose and sneaking around the dimly-lit nightspots of Metropolis in disguise."

He grinned at her easily, "We can still do that?"

Lois considered it. "I think I prefer your idea of not-date date destination plans." She dropped her voice; "Although, this is totally cheating."

"I'm sorry?"

"We're picking up where we left off- right? Me and you."

"Right."

"Lois and Clark."

"Right."

"Hanging out- just like old times."

Clark deliberated. "Right."

Lois raised her eyebrows and opened her hands; "Clark never flew me out of an international time zone, just for kicks."

Clark hesitated, not sure if he should bring this up.

"Actually. That's not strictly true."

Lois' brow lowered in interest.

He offered, "Fiji."

Lois rolled her eyes at him, "We boarded the wrong plane because you misread the arrivals information. It's hardly the same thing."

Clark scratched his jaw. "Ye-ah, about that."

Lois insisted, "Don't you remember? You read the numbers wrong; you said your glasses..." Even as the words came, she could recognize their fallacy, "needed a new...prescript..." Looking into his eyes, she pointed at him. "You told me you made an innocent mistake."

He took a breath. "An innocent mistake that just happened to force us into an extra day of the assignment. With nothing but each other's company." He slowly smiled beatifically at her. "Yeah."

"Wait a minute." Starting to grasp the full implications, Lois fixed him with an indignant glare, "You _lied_ to me?"

"You know, lying's an awfully strong word..."

Her hands went to her hips. "You mean to tell me I spent ten, _needless_, hours on a cargo plane, flying to Fiji, _and then back_..." her eyes narrowed, "for your enjoyment?"

"...I prefer to call what happened ...a slight obfuscation of the truth."

"You _lied_ to me just to spend time with me?"

"Well..." He was trying hard to treat her grievance seriously. But she was so cute when she was all het up.

"I was sat in between chickens, Clark! Lots of chickens. I was hot, and sweaty...I was practically in your lap the whole way!"

Clark grinned at the memory, "I know."

Lois continued to remonstrate, "Perry put you on marriage announcement duty for months! He threatened to fire you but I backed you up!" She lowered her voice, "And I was sat in between _chickens_."

"It was totally worth it."

"Chickens, Clark! Looking at me..." Lois wiggled an accusatory finger in front of her face, "with their weird eyes, and doing that thing with their necks- I still find it hard to watch Farmyard Funtime with Lucy's kids."

"Clearly, if I'd have known about your phobia beforehand..."

"It's not_ a phobia_" she interrupted quickly. "...I just don't like the way they look at me. Or move. Or ...exist..."

Clark waved his hands through the air, "Anyway. That's all in the past..." He nodded behind her, "And hey, take a look at that."

But Lois was not to be distracted, "Oh, there's going to be payback, Clark; do you understand that?_ Vast _amounts of payback."

"Well, that's why we're here. Now turn around."

"Chickens!"

"Just turn around."

"What? Why?"

"Turn around."

"If there's an oak-leaved geranium behind me, I swear..."

"Lois, just turn around."

"What is this? Guess the power ballad?"

Clark reached out, placed a hand on each of her shoulders and turned her around.

"Am I supposed to be Bonnie Ty-" She stopped and took a moment to find her breath again. "Oh, Clark."

Out across the sea, the sun was setting. As it dipped below the horizon, the sky burned. Hues of reds and orange diffused into the hazy twilight above, and she could feel the last of the day's warmth on her face.

"That's ...magnificent."

Clark moved from behind her to stand at her side. His arm brushed her bare shoulder making it pimple.

"Every time we worked late and you said we'd missed the sun going down again, I wanted to bring you here."

She gave a light chuckle of disbelief.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's just that earlier today I was stuck in a car in a five lane traffic jam. In drizzle. And now, I'm here." She tore her eyes from the spectacle to look at him. "Where the hell are we?"

"I can give you an exact map location if you want? But it's basically a deserted island in the Lesser Antilles."

"We're in the Caribbean?" Lois shook her head and then grinned. "Man, this is _so_ cheating."

Clark matched her smile. "It's payback."

She gestured back to the island, "Does it have a name?"

He nodded. "It's called 'Snying rje po ngam'. Which, in English, apparently translates as 'Land with the Open Sky.'"

Lois imitated Clark's pronunciation; "Snying rje po ngam? What is that, Polynesian?"

"Tibetan." Off her look of puzzlement he added, "Long story."

She gazed around her, "It's incredible."

Slowly she turned back to him.

"Is it yours? Please don't tell me it's yours." He watched her bite her lip; "I'm just about dealing with the whole destined to be without each other thing, but if you tell me we could've had a second home on a tropical island," she told him seriously, "I think I might cry."

"It's not mine."

Suddenly, something caught his attention. She followed his gaze upward but could see nothing. Then, after a few moments, some kind of stealth aircraft flew low over the treeline before circling above them.

"Ah. It belongs to him."

Lois recognised the distinctive shape of the plane from television pictures. "Is that...who I think it is?"

The aircraft landed gracefully about a hundred meters away, barely disturbing the sand. They watched as the cockpit slid open. A caped figure climbed out.

Lois looked back at Clark to check he was seeing the same thing she was, and her eyes were not playing tricks, "It's ...Batman?"

But Clark didn't look surprised. In fact, he looked sort of annoyed.

"Yes."

---

Batman had opened a side panel on the fuselage and seemed to be running through some post-flight checks as they strode toward him. Lois' brain had clicked into gear and she pumped Clark for information as they walked;

"Oh my gosh! Is this some kind of special meeting place? Have you brought me to your secret lair? Your base of operations? Is this like a superhero G14?"

Out of habit, she patted herself for her notepad and pen before excitedly enquiring; "Are we at a Summit?"

"We're not _supposed_ to be."

Once they were close enough, Batman lifted his chin in acknowledgement. Clark opened his hands,

"Hey, I uh, thought you said no-one'd be around?"

Batman looked one way up the beach, and then the other. It was completely empty. He pointed out, "No one is around?"

"O-kay." Lois watched Clark raise his finger to touch the side of his nose in a deliberate gesture. She had been around both his guises long enough to know that he rarely made any outward show of displeasure. The nose-touching was kind of badass- she liked it.

Testily, he clarified, "I thought you said _you_ wouldn't be around?"

"Oh well, you know." Batman thumbed over his shoulder. "Just thought I'd test drive the new next gen Batwing. Came straight down the Eastern Sea Board; Gotham to here in twenty-eight minutes. Not bad, huh?"

Clark was unimpressed. He lifted a shoulder, "I suppose it's all relative."

"And uh," Batman slapped Clark hard on his back whilst not taking his eyes off Lois, "you didn't really think I was going to to pass up the opportunity to meet the woman I hear so much about, did you?"

"I see now that I was foolish to hold out hope."

Ignoring Clark, Batman took Lois's right hand in both his own. "The lovely Miss Lane, I presume? It's a rare pleasure."

He delicately brought his lips to kiss her knuckles. Lois couldn't help it- she swooned. "Oh! Thankyou. Mister..." She thought about it but could not improve upon anything more acceptable than, "..Bat...man...?"

"Forgive me! Where are my manners?"

Lois watched as to her astonishment Batman hooked his thumbs under each side of his face mask and pulled it clean off. He rubbed the hair on his head, making stylishly cropped tufts stick out crazily.

"Please, just call me Bruce."

Lois was speechless. Looking back at her was the man regularly voted in front of Clark as the world's most eligible bachelor, the man dubbed by the press 'The Trust Fund Philanthropist', the man who, according to Forbes, was the seventh richest _in the world_. Only earlier today he had been featured on the cover of the Planet's financial news supplement; she'd tidied away his face for recycling! This was ridiculous.

"Bruce...Wayne?"

Without looking away Lois began tugging at the bottom of Clark's shirt. Still smiling politely, and trying not to move her lips, she whispered urgently through her teeth, "Clark! It's Bruce Wayne, and he's wearing Batman's costume!"

Clark and Bruce looked at each other, both allowing sufficient time for the penny to drop.

Lois, still tugging at the shirt, started nodding to herself before offering weakly, "Bruce Wayne is Batman, isn't he?"

Bruce winked at her. She surrendered her last remnant of professional poise as she blurted; "Oh my God! Bruce Wayne is Batman!"

Bruce nodded in enthusiastic agreement, "I know- can you imagine what the media would do if they ever found out?"

"Bruce Wayne is Batman?"

He pulled at the fingertips of his gloves in thought, "I believe you're the first person outside our families to know of both our identities..."

"This is unbelievable! This is insane! This is so unfair!"

Tugging the glove off, Bruce gestured with it. "...Hey, I guess that makes you sort of unique?"

From Lois' throat there was a noise of anguish. She looked from one to the other, "You guys know I'm a reporter, right?"

Running an expert eye over her, Bruce turned to Clark.

"I find myself impressed with you, Clark. You weren't exaggerating, were you?"

Lois wasn't exactly sure what that meant, but decided to take it as a compliment anyway.

Bruce leaned in to her, "Hey listen, if things don't work out with the Boy Scout over here-"

Clark stepped in between them, "Haven't you got a city to go, you know, be a feared and dangerous vigilante over?" He corrected himself, "I'm sorry, I mean, 'protect'?"

Bruce didn't move but instead smiled winningly; "I have a sidekick."

Lois, a little overexcited and star-struck, and eager to prove her superhero credentials were not limited to just her favorite, raised her hand in the air; "Robin!"

Delighted, Bruce nodded an encouraging 'Very good.' He looked at Clark, "She's very good."

Behind Lois, Clark simmered.

"Anyway, I'd love to stick around, show you the sights," Bruce edged in closer to Lois, "round the back there's a jacuzzi..." prompting Clark to speak up,

"So I heard there's been some recent trouble up at Arkham?"

Bruce flashed a movie-star grin at Lois, "...but Clark's right," he dropped his voice, "as usual." Pulling his gloves back on, and with what Lois could have sworn was a twinkle in his eye, Bruce looked out over the sea. "Gotham's dark underbelly of criminal scum awaits."

"Say hi to the Joker for me."

Bruce gave Clark a tight smile before addressing Lois. "So I'll wish you a goodnight."

He turned to leave. After a few steps he stopped and came back round.

"Oh. Listen, I know you two have this doomed romance thing going on," Bruce held up a hand to stage-whisper at Lois loudly, "Clark's always crying into his milk glass over it."

Lois stole a glance at Clark who, adorably, blushed. "And the last thing I want to do is get in the way of that. But as I'm playing host, I thought it'd only be polite to offer you dinner."

Bruce removed something from his utility belt and pointed it at the house.

The paved terrace lit up. Now illuminated by candlelight, Lois could see two chairs, and a table dressed for dinner. Overhead, little white lanterns glowed softly amongst the branches and moved gently in the boughs of the overhanging palms.

"Oh, wow."

"Nothing too fancy. Anyway, I'll leave you to it." He threw the remote, fast, at Clark. Clark caught it easily and looked at it. Bruce and his gadgets.

"Clark."

"Bruce."

"Have fun. And don't forget to lock up." He turned his attention to Lois again.

"And Miss Lane, I can only live in the hope that we get the chance to meet again someday."

"Oh, how kind. Thankyou." She stuttered, "Mr Wayne-Bruce...Mr Man-Wayne."

As he bent to kiss her hand again she started to giggle and had to turn it into an unconvincing cough when Clark narrowed his eyes at her.

"Please, don't hesitate to call me if you need anything."

Clark assured him confidently, "I won't."

"I wasn't talking to you."

"I know."

Together Lois and Clark watched him fire up the Batwing and leave. Lois stared after the vapor trail that dissected an otherwise unclouded, dimming sky.

"Well, that just takes the cake, doesn't it?"

Clark looked at her.

"I could've bagged myself a superhero who features on the E! Channel's Best Dressed countdown every year, makes Donald Trump's personal fortune look like a child's piggy bank savings, AND had my own tropical island. But oooh nooo. I went and fell for you, and what do I get? A sub-sectioned dating policy, and a giant igloo."

Clark bristled defensively. "The Fortress of Solitude is not a _giant igloo, _Lois_." _He considered carefully;_ "_It's ...an ice...palace."

---

"Do you think this is really Almas Caviar?"

At a table sparkling with silver cutlery, fine china, dome plate covers, and unfeasibly tall champagne flutes, Lois inspected the inscription. Soft candlelight played on her face and Clark had to be careful not to stare too much at the way it reflected back into her eyes off the distinctive golden tin. A variety of food had been left for them to pick and choose at and Lois- having already developed a taste for seafood tonight- spooned a dollop out of the container and onto a slice of lightly toasted baguette.

"It seems kind of an extravagance."

Clark smiled, "Knowing Bruce, it was probably flown in fresh from The Caviar House in London while he kept us talking." He pronged a green bean with his fork before putting it to his mouth.

Lois lifted a finger from her glass to point at him. "So. You and Batman."

"Mmm."

"The hero and the anti-hero. It seems a strange fit?"

Clark wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "We have more in common than I'd care to admit."

Lois played with the stem of her glass, turning it round with her fingertips, "How long have you two been friends?"

"Ever since we've known each other."

"And how long's that?"

Clark blew out his breath. "Six or seven years now? Since before I came to Metropolis."

"Are you close?"

He lifted his shoulders, "As close as guys like us get, I guess? We don't get too much time to just hang out together. Although, he has spent the odd Thanksgiving with us in Smallville."

Lois raised her eyebrows at the idea.

Clark elaborated, "He loves my mom's apple pie; my mom thinks he's nuts. They get on very well."

"I can't believe Bruce Wayne is Batman." She looked out into the distance, marvelling, before adding as a joke, "Next thing you'll be telling me is that Jimmy is Robin."

Her glass stopped on the way to her mouth. After everything that had happened, maybe that wasn't such a silly suggestion. Better check to be safe. She looked at Clark seriously.

"Jimmy's not Robin, is he?"

Clark looked back, mimicking her seriousness, "Not as far as I know."

Lois ran her tongue along the inside of her mouth in thought. "It's an interesting dichotomy, don't you think? Bruce Wayne and Batman. Bruce seems so..."

"Charming? Avuncular? Harmless?"

"Right, and Batman has a reputation for being so..."

"Angry? Intense? Lethal?"

"Well, not to put too fine a point on it but." Lois' forehead creased. "Exactly."

Clark cocked his head as he pushed some food around his plate, "The playboy/the avenger; they're just the sides he shows to people. He wears masks the same way I wear mine. Somewhere, underneath it all, there's the real Bruce."

His words hung in the air and they were silent for a moment.

Placing her fork down carefully, Lois lent across the table to cover his hand, wanting his attention. He watched light flicker in her eyes.

"I don't know if I ever said, if I ever mentioned it? How glad I am that I know; that you told me. And not just because I got to sleep with you." The ghost of a smile played on her lips, "Although that was a pretty enjoyable side-benefit." She sobered again; "I hate to think of you going through things alone."

He squeezed her hand back. Absently her thumb ran across his knuckles as she stayed where she was- reaching over the tabletop.

"Today, you rescued a hundred people down a mineshaft in Africa." She returned to lean back in her seat, and shook her head at nothing, "A year ago you could have done the same thing in the morning, turned up for work in the afternoon, probably trailing coal dust and dirt everywhere, and with a giant badge pinned to your chest saying 'I save lives before breakfast!' and I would have barely looked at you. In fact, I would've probably told you to stop getting finger smudges all over my newsprint- and, if you're going that way- to make mine black with two sugars."

Lois finished with her voice unusually high- exasperated with her former self.

"Come on, that's ridiculous!" Clark admonished generously before an expression of mischief stole across his face; "You hardly ever take your coffee without milk in the afternoon."

She sighed at him. "You know what I mean."

They eyed each other. Clark looked at where his hands rested in front of him.

"Have you thought about how dangerous it is for you now? Knowing what you know about me?"

"What? That you're Superman?" Lois shrugged, "What difference does it make?"

"You have to lie for me, and before you didn't." Clark lifted his gaze to her. She had raised an eyebrow at him,

"Right. Because telling Perry you've stepped out to get me a cheese burger when in reality you're saving a busload of school children is the kind of integrity issue that's really going to keep me up at nights."

Clark shook his head. "No, that's not it; if someone found out about us...You could get hurt."

Lois was unconvinced. "Why? Do you think they'd try and get me to talk; I'm more vulnerable now because I don't have plausible deniability anymore?"

"I'm not worried about what you would do," Clark modulated his voice to emphasize the distinction; "I'm worried about what _I_ would do."

"I don't understand."

"There are ways of using you to get to me, Lois. Ways that are worse than trying to prise my secret identity out of you."

She lifted a shoulder in acquiescence, "Okay, I'm a target. How does that make me different from..." Lois opened her hands, "the First Lady? Or the heiress to some big fortune? Or anybody else close to someone with enough incentive to be blackmailed?"

He looked at her steadily, "Because I would flatten Paris in a second, and not think twice about it, if it meant saving you."

Lois was forced to concede, "That's a good point," before quietly addressing the glass rim at her lips, "Although, no one likes the French anyway..."

"Lois..."

"Clark." She put down her glass. A fierce resolve was back in her eyes. "I know you worry about me. I know you like to worry about me. In fact, I think worrying about me might be one of your less celebrated superpowers. But I've got news for you; I like worrying about you too, okay? So I'm glad I know."

He watched her face, looking for the signs that she didn't mean it. There were none.

"Whatever happens, I'm glad I know."

**---**

After dinner, Lois grabbed a blanket from the house to cover her shoulders, Clark rolled up the ends of his trousers, and they went for a walk along the beach. Every so often he bent down to inspect a pebble or a small stone, pocketing it if he liked the look of it. In the gaps between conversation they enjoyed the stillness of the night- when all they could hear besides their own footsteps were the call of doves nestling in the trees, and the sound of the surf lilting against the shore.

About a half mile away from the lights of the villa they stopped and walked further up the beach to sit on the sand, out of reach of the lapping water. Clark took the stones from his pockets and made a little pile between them. Lois' hair stirred on a breeze and to take his made off it Clark threw a stone into the water. It skimmed the surface once, twice, three four five times and just kept going. Lois watched it disappear into the horizon before leaning back on her hands to look up at the night sky.

It was beautiful. The heavens looked thick with stars. Lois didn't think she'd ever seen so many. They were quiet. After a while, she spoke,

"So, point me in the direction."

"I'm sorry?"

She bumped him with her shoulder and with the same arm pointed at the sky, "Point me in the direction of Home. Your old neighborhood." She smiled.

"Oh." With her now, Clark scrutinised the constellations. She watched him. "Now let's see. Okay." Clark stretched out one arm to point at a specific area of the sky, "You see that star there, and that star there?"

Lois nudged in closer so that she was more in line with the angle of his arm. Their inclined heads were just short of touching, "Uh-huh."

"And just to the left, there's Jupiter?"

"Which one's Jupiter?"

His index finger twitched, "The glowy one?"

"There?"

"No that's Venus. Jupiter-" His finger twitched some more, "the other, slightly-less glowy one. Above Orion."

"Uuuh..." Her eyes moved up. "Got it."

"And they make kind of a triangle?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, if you take a hard left there, carry on, and then a hard right at the Doradus Nebula, and just keep going," He lowered his arm to balance his weight again and turned to her, "eventually, you'll come to a big, dark space where a planet used to be."

"And how far away is that?"

"It's about the equivalent distance as it is from where we are now back to your apartment in Metropolis."

"Well, that doesn't seem off the charts."

"If you were an ant."

"Ah." For a while Lois was quiet. "Do you miss it?"

"You know what they say;" he smiled at her, "you can't miss what you never had."

"I know, but, you must wonder. What it would've been like. Krypton."

"Sometimes, I guess. I know there are gaps in my cultural heritage that I'll never be able to fill- even with the Fortress. Questions I'll never be able to answer." His tone shifted as he stared into space, "What would I have done differently? What would I have become? Would I still have been a writer?" He faced her again. "Who would I have been?"

"Just another Average Joe."

They stared at each other for almost longer than was comfortable. He told her,

"If things had worked out differently, I would've happily been just another Average Joe, right here."

Her eyes moved over his face before she looked away. "You would've hated it."

"That's not true."

"Okay,_ I_ would've hated it."

He gave her a very doubtful look.

"I'm serious!" She picked up a pebble, turning it over in her fingers rather than meeting his gaze, "Do you know what an inconvenience it would've been to actually have to dial 911 every time I found myself as the innocent bystander at the center of a major terrorist plot? Total. Drag."

She threw the stone.

Taking his cue from her, Clark moved the conversation away from difficult things. "I suppose there are advantages. And," he drew a breath, glancing up, "life on Earth has its unique charms, too."

She followed his gaze to take in the view above them, and marvelled, "I know. Have you ever seen anything anymore breathtaking?"

Clark risked a glance at her out the side of his eyes. "Yes."

Completely absorbed by the sky above her, Lois carried on, "You know, my dad used to tell us this story. He said that there are about four hundred billion stars in our galaxy. That's almost exactly the same number of people that have ever been born." She turned to him, eyes shining, "One star for every human being that's ever lived on Earth."

"I love star stories. Every culture has them."

"Tell me some."

Not taking his eyes away from the stars, Clark spoke into the night, "In Southern Africa, on the Kalahari, Khoe-San folklore tells of a lonely girl who wanted to visit other people. But the skies were dark then, and she couldn't see, so she threw burning embers to light the way."

Lois was charmed. She told him softly, "That's really nice."

"And two thousand years ago, in Mesopotamia, they believed that the Milky Way was a column of smoke, rising to the gods from sacrificial offerings."

Lois paused. "That's not so nice."

"And the Ancient Mayans believed that the Milky Way was the path to the Otherworld, marked by the campfires of their ancestors."

They both gazed at the hazy band of spindrifted light that spanned the sky.

"But that's not my favorite Milky Way story."

Lois lifted her chin at him, "What's your favorite Milky Way story?"

"In Eastern mythology," Clark pointed to a particular star, "Altair," and then to another on the other side of the system, "and Vega, are two lovers separated forever by a great river. But, touched by their love for each other, the Goddess of Heaven allows them to unite once every year on the seventh day of the seventh lunar month."

"Good old Goddess of Heaven." Lois managed, almost without bitterness, thinking Altair and Vega had nothing to cry about; at least they got the chance to get it on- even if it was only once a year. She wondered if this made Bruce their Goddess of Heaven.

"And that's just the stars. There are a whole bunch of legends about the planets and the moon."

Lois moved her eyes down to the horizon where the moon hovered, low and full, just above its own silvery reflection.

"I can't believe how big it looks from here. It's amazing."

"That's what all the ladies say."

She turned to Clark with a tragic expression on her face and he wiggled his eyebrows. "You know, in a strange way, it's a comfort to me."

"What is?"

"Realizing how much of a dork you were, all along. That the old Clark may be gone, but the bad jokes remain." He grinned as she returned her attention to the moon. "It's an optical illusion, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it's size never changes. It just looks bigger when its lower in the sky. You can test it with a coin or...here." Clark chose a round pebble and held it out at arm's length. "See? The pebble fits over it almost exactly."

She closed one eye and looked down his arm. "We'll test it again with the same pebble once the moon's risen."

Lois frowned, "Intellectually, I know you're right. But it just looks...like it's bigger."

"If it's any consolation, Ptolemy struggled with the phenomenon too. And it still eludes satisfactory explanation."

"It's something to do with angles, isn't it? The shape of the sky?"

Clark upturned his bottom lip. "Modern theories tend to explain the effect as entirely psychological; that visual illusions occur because of the way the human brain is organized. That although neural patterns have evolved to respond to interpret the everyday three dimensionality of the world very efficiently, disparities can arise when visual information lacks sufficient physical context and comes into conflict with the judgements the brain..."

He stopped. "What?"

"Nothing. I just like listening to your voice, sometimes."

He nodded to himself, with a satisfied smile, "I knew it."

"What?"

"You've always had a secret thing for my dorky side."

"That's...No, I haven't..." Lois protested unconvincingly.

In his best bedroom voice he asked, "Would you like me to put on my glasses?"

"...I'm rapidly discovering it's not so much a side, as the founding cornerstone of your entire personality."

"Thanks. I think."

She gave him an appraising once over. "But you do know your stuff, don't you?"

Clark deprecated, "It's easier to talk in theoretical terms about the moon when you can go up there for a daytrip."

Something jogged in Lois' head. "Oh that reminds me; there's something I've been meaning to ask you- something that's been on my mind since yesterday."

"Yes?"

"About the moon."

"Yes?"

She regarded him with utter seriousness:_ "Is_ it true it's made of cheese?"

Clark laughed loudly into the night.

"Actually, it's a giant wheat thin, but nobody ever believes me when I tell them."

Lois chuckled back at him. Once they had settled again, she cleared her throat,

"Actually, there was something I wanted to talk to you about. That really has been on my mind since yesterday. For real." She looked at him. "The heartbeat thing;" Lois squinted, **"**it kind of freaked me out."

Clark gave a little laugh, "Yeah, me too."

"When did you first notice it?"

An image flashed through his mind. Dragging Lois' car out of a crack in the world. He told her honestly, "Ah, you wouldn't remember."

"Is there a range to it?"

"I don't think so, I think it's something that just kicks in. Like a fight or flight reflex-" He toggled his hand at his ear, "I can tune in to it, but only when I need it; I can't switch it on and off like a tracking device."

"So how does it work?"

"I'm able to cut out everything. Except for that one sound."

"And it just works for me?"

"Yes."

She nodded and let that sink in. She wanted to ask; why?

"How?"

"Honestly?" He shook his head, "I'm not sure. I suppose it's like a roomful of babies crying. To a stranger the crying sounds the same but you'd be able to pick out your own child straight away."

Lois patted him lightly on the knee and told him wistfully, "You're the oddest man I've ever met." She threw a pebble trying to get it to skim and it plopped straight into the water. "Oh, except for Hairy Steve from Technical Support. He weirds me the hell out."

"Oh yeah, me too." Clark threw a pebble and it skimmed off into the distance again. "Those guys spend way too much time out of direct sunlight. Their basement gives me the creeps."

"Last week Jimmy clocked off and waited around for me for three hours because he needed a new USB hub and he doesn't like going down there on his own."

"I'm_Superman,_ and I don't like going down there on my own." Clark went to throw another stone and stopped. "Wait. Which one's Hairy Steve?"

"You know, the guy that wears all the buttons?" Lois pointed at her hair, "The one that's totally bald and has no eyebrows."

"I thought that was Stu?"

"No, that's Steve. Stu is his identical twin brother."

"I had no idea they were twins!" Clark was silent. "Doesn't Stu have the wild-crazy moustache and beard?"

"That's him."

Clark was confused, "Then what's with Steve's nickname?"

"I think it's supposed to be ironic."

He nodded.

"Talking of irony," Lois picked at the hem of her dress. "My sister, this morning. She doesn't think Clark's good enough for me. She thinks I should switch my focus back to Superman."

She looked up at him and they shook their heads lightly at each other.

"Our love-life is insane." he agreed and threw another pebble. "What does she have against Clark?"

"Aside from your party no-show, I think her eyes lit up at the potential of a superhero in the family. The children have already bestowed the honor unto you of Best. Guest. Ever."

Clark smiled bashfully, "Really?"

"Absolutely. Clarence the Clown is now nothing but a distant, and long-forgotten second."

He chuckled. "Your sister's kids are adorable."

Lois grinned back in agreement, "Fickle, but adorable." She chuckled softly to herself, "I'm teaching them about non-verbal cues."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah; you know, how to read the subtle hints of body language. And that a quick kick to the shins means would you just shut up about Valentine's cards?"

Clark closed his eyes, and shook his head, trying and failing to keep the mockery inside, "I can't believe you made me a Valentine's Day card."

"It was an example," Lois insisted testily, "- to show the kids." She gave her hair a little flick, "Anyway, Phoebe's card had way more love kisses on it than mine did; that girl's got no shame."

Clark grinned, "Which one's Phoebe?"

Lois matched his expression, "The youngest, the one missing the front teeth," she said fondly, "Elizabeth and Zach are the twins."

Clark remembered back to the party trying to place him, "Zach wanted to know if I get paper cuts?"

Lois nodded that was him. "He's told everyone that his best friend is Superman- he wants you to give piggyback rides at his party."

Clark spoke softly, "We'll see if we can work something out."

Lois sighed deeply. "It's funny, I met this family today..." Her voice trailed off as she recalled the Walkers. Sarah and her socks. James and his action figure doll. "You mean alot to so many people."

"Superman means alot." he corrected her. For a long time they said nothing more, and just enjoyed the serenity of the night. Then he felt Lois shift.

"Clark?"

"Yes."

"Do you ever wonder," she faltered, not sure if she wanted to ask the question. Or if she should. "Do you ever think about...what our children would've been like?"

Clark hesitated. The usual battle waged within him between wanting to protect her heart, or tell her the truth. For once, he let truth win out.

On a breath, he said, "Yes."

Lois thought about it. Alot. Embarrassingly, even before she knew, like a teenager daydreaming about her heartthrob, she used to imagine what their children might look like; little raven-haired moppets running around the house, accidentally igniting the curtains with their eyes when they sneezed or something. But they would be pretty handy when she couldn't open the peanut butter jar.

On an exhale of breath, she observed, "They would've been pretty amazing."

"They would've been exceptional."

"They would've been impossible."

"What-" Clark grinned widely and raised an eyebrow, "stubbornness as a superpower?"

Lois smiled at the idea, "God, can you imagine?" but suddenly found herself forcing away a lump in her throat.

Clark spoke gently, "It wouldn't have been all bad; they might've followed in our footsteps- become journalists."

"Try to save the world by letter and by deed?"

Clark nodded once emphatically, "Think of the pedigree."

Lois couldn't argue with his logic. Mischievously, she offered, "A heady combination of my natural talent, my gift for prose, my insatiable desire to report the truth at all costs, and your ...spelling skills..."

He let it fly this once, finishing "...We could've produced the greatest journalist the world's ever seen!"

The momentum of the moment came to its natural end. Lois told her knees, "Anyway. Kids. It would've been pretty great."

Clark's heart ached in his chest.

"You can still have that. I want you to have that."

She looked at him sadly, but he was facing away. She heard him say, "I better take you home."

**---**

He had only meant to take her to watch a Caribbean sunset, but somehow they arrived back at her balcony six hours after he had first knocked on her door. They separated and stood there, neither knowing quite how to bring the night to a close. Lois knew that she should really just say goodbye and get it over with, but somehow she couldn't quite utter the words. Instead she said,

"I had a really great time tonight."

"Me too."

She fiddled with the buttons on her dress, "No, I mean like, a stupidly great time."

"Me too."

"I'm glad we did this."

He nodded at her. She noticed a fleck of sand on his shoulder and picked it off.

She sucked in, "So. Now I know about Batman...and you came clean about Fiji...and you explained the heartbeat thing..." she folded her arms, "Anything else I should know about?" She smiled at him, "Anything else you want to get off your chest?"

"I think that's it."

"Okay, good."

A thought seemed to suddenly come to him. He leaned in and enquired huskily, "I already mentioned about the alien stuff, right?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Oh, there is one more thing."

"Yes?"

His voiced changed to a more serious tone. "But you must never reveal this to another living sole."

"Yes?"

He gazed deep into her eyes, his voice now barely above a whisper, "Do you promise?"

"Yes."

"Do you swear on your Press accreditation pass?"

She hesitated and it amused Clark that that was the one point on which she had to consider her answer. "Yes."

He made her hang on a little while longer...

"I own all of Phil Collins albums... And I feel good about it."

Lois remained silent for a long moment, allowing the funny man to have his fun. She informed him gravely, "Your secret's safe."

"Good to know."

"But I can't lie to you Clark, I'm looking at you a little differently right now."

"I understand."

"Although," she sing-songed, "it could've been worse. You could've said Michael Bolton."

They shared a smile. Clark made a mental note to hide the A-C section of his record collection next time Lois was round. She turned to go. He almost went too, but he didn't.

"Oh, there was one thing."

She stopped "Mmm?"

Clark felt himself clamp his jaws together. She had turned back round to face him fully. She was waiting.

"I can't stand Richard White."

Lois did a little head shake. Where had that come from? "Pardon me?"

Clark repeated, "I can't stand Richard White."

Lois was not sure that she'd ever heard him voice a dislike of anyone before. Criminal masterminds, Kryptonian fugitives, and that Jim-Jim whatsit guy from the newer Star Wars movies notwithstanding.

Curious more than anything, she asked him, "What's wrong with Richard White?"

"Nothing, I just don't like him."

"Have you ever even spoken to him?"

"It's difficult. He doesn't seem to venture out to our side of the office until he's sure I've left you alone."

Lois frowned, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"He's in love with you."

Lois spluttered a laugh of bewilderment, "He's not in love with me! He's a...little..." She searched for an appropriate term, "over-enthusiastic, maybe..."

Clark insisted, "He's in love with you."

She waved him off, "Oh Clark, please; he has a little crush."

But Clark was serious. "Lois- take it from an expert; I've seen the way he looks at you."

"What are you talking about- 'looks' at me? There's no way. What way?"

"There's a way, and he looks at you with it."

"Oh, you're being ridiculous."

"What about the pen?"

Lois hesitated, wary of the turns this conversation was taking. "Pen?"

"Yes! The pen he's forever _conveniently_ leaving on your desk and then _just having_ to come back for."

Lois' face changed from dubiousness to understanding, "Ooh, that's what he was doing. I just thought he was a little forgetful."

Clark was unimpressed, "It's like the oldest, corniest trick in the book."

"So, his flirting technique lacks finesse." She scrunched her forehead, "So what?"

Not attempting to keep the note of derision out of his voice, Clark muttered, "_A pen_."

That pissed Lois off. "Well, maybe you could give him some tips?"

Genuine hurt unfolded on Clark's face. Lois ignored it,

"Yeah, why not? If that's your problem. You flew me to Fiji, didn't you? You must have tons of experience in the area of elaborately-contrived non-reasons to spend time with me? You should pass some of it on to someone for whom it would actually be useful."

Clark didn't know quite what to say. Lois read the disquiet etched on his face.

"What?" she demanded tetchily. "'Someday, you'll meet somebody'- isn't that what you told me? Weren't those your exact words?"

'Well...yeah,' Clark thought to himself. 'But I didn't mean it.'

"He asked me to the Ball."

Clark suddenly found the floor very interesting. He rubbed the back of his neck.

"I know."

"Oh right," Lois stuck out a hip, "I did wonder how much of that private conversation you were listening in to."

Clark protested weakly, "I wasn't...you were speaking very loud."

"Define 'loud' when you can tell whether or not I have a resting pulse rate from the stratosphere, Clark?"

He had the grace to look chastened. "I'm sorry, you're right. I don't know why..." The sentence remained stuck in his throat. He steeled himself, "I'm sure you two will have a wonderful time."

Lois sighed in exasperation with him, "Don't you want to know what I said?"

"It's none of my business, really..."

"I told him I wasn't sure if I was even going."

"Oh." Clark looked up, "You're not sure?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Well," she moved a shoulder, "it depends."

"On what?"

She met his eyes. "On whether you're going."

"Oh, I wasn't sure..." He waved a hand in the air as a substitute for a fully-formed sentence.

"I wasn't sure, either."

Clark tried to explain, "Because I mean, tonight was different. But being around everyone, having to act a certain way..." He huffed quietly to himself- frustrated at his lack of articulation. He started again,

"It's important to me that things aren't weird between us- I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable." His inner voice added, 'and I'm not sure I can handle you in a ball gown when you can already drive me half out of my mind in a summer dress and _flip-flops._'

Lois had no such compunction about voicing her opinion. She decided it was best to take the straight approach.

"News flash, Clark; I spend about a hundred percent of the time I'm around you feeling uncomfortable. And of course, by uncomfortable, I mean fantasizing about ripping off your clothes."

She let that sink in.

"Well," Clark managed, before adding in an unusually high and flustered tone, "just as long as we're on the same page, then."

Lois jabbed both her hands decisively in the air in front of her. She assured him, "I figure it's all good, as long as we're both clear on where we stand."

He understood. "You mean, as long as we both realise ...there's no happy ending for us."

Lois blinked before repeating the jabbed hand-gesture, "I preferred the way I put it."

Clark nodded seriously. "It just requires a little self-control."

Lois agreed, "Right. We managed okay tonight, didn't we? And tonight there was a candlelit dinner."

"And a moonlit walk."

"Exactly; tonight was probably the most romantic date I've ever been on!" After a moment had passed, Lois considered her words. That was kind of a depressing thought.

"We restrained ourselves well." Clark agreed before adding, "And I hate to be a pedant," he lied, "but, tonight was your most romantic _not-_date."

Lois shook her head, "Right, that's what I said. So, we'll be fine. Maybe we could even do this again?"

"Well, I had this planned as a sort of one-off..." warming to the idea, Clark spitballed, "...But I suppose, I mean, maybe we could go out- on other non-dates, as practice for the Ball?"

"Right! Practice, exactly. That's just what I was thinking."

"Great!"

"It'll be great, we'll be fine."

"I'll see you at work then."

"See you at work!"

"Night."

"Night."

Lois hugged herself as she watched Clark disappear into the sky.

"Everything will be fine." she repeated outloud. Self-control, self-control was all they needed...

She leaned back against her doors. Oh God, they were so screwed.

"I could really use a cigarette."

She hurried inside to find her Nicotine patches.


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: Sorry for the delay between posts; the last month has seen a distressing infrequency of free time (blah blah blah excuses-cakes... :D). Anyway, this chapter's another biggie so pull up a chair, and make yourself comfortable. Hope you enjoy it.**

* * *

Superpowers were all well and good thought Clark as he delicately rested his briefcase on a raised knee and stuck three items of mail and a couple of take-out menus between his teeth, but at the end of the day one could still only do so much with two hands. He had two bags of groceries in one arm, his suit jacket slung over the crook of the other, and he was forced into a little hoppy-toe dance of balance in order to rummage around the inside pocket for his keys and still keep the groceries upright. 

He had just managed to slip the key into its lock when he glanced down and registered a folded copy of today's Planet on his doorstep. A connection fired in his brain and he remembered he'd left his files at work. Without turning the key, he leaned forward to rest his head against the door and sighed heavily. It had been a long day, and he had spent the greater part of it going through boxes of financial records spanning the last twenty-seven years. Since morning, he'd managed to look over nearly two hundred _thousand_ separate invoices- his ability to scan one complete page of numbers in point two five of a second had however eventually turned out to be both a blessing and a curse, because by the time he got up to the records for nineteen eighty-eight/eighty-nine his eyes were starting to glaze over and he could swear images were forming out of the lines of code like a magic eye picture. He offhandedly mentioned that he thought he could see a dolphin winking at him, and that was when Lois had looked up from her slightly smaller stack of 'done' files, eyed him carefully over the rim of her glasses and told him he needed to go home. Now.

He thought back to that conversation and remembered he'd shut down his computer and packed away his briefcase and that it had been his intention to pick up the set of files labelled eighty-nine/ninety on the way out, but something had called him away and he'd completely forgotten about them. He could picture where they were right now and debated just leaving them to go through tomorrow...

The sense of a task unfinished nagged at him. He checked his watch- it wouldn't take a second to make the round trip back to and from the office. He'd be home again in no time. Resolved to a decision, Clark twisted the key and the door swung open under his weight. He dumped everything that he was holding onto his kitchen table and without pausing to change, took off straight out of his open window- into the warm night air, and in the direction of the Daily Planet.

---

Taking care that no one was around, Clark landed lightly on the roof and skipped down the narrow stairwell that lead back to the top floor elevators, working at his tie as he went. Under normal conditions he would never risk coming into the office this way, but it was late. Sliding the tie from his collar, he rolled it into an untidy ball and stuffed it into his pocket and then used both hands to undo the top two buttons of his dress shirt; although the heat wave currently crippling the city did not impact on his personal comfort the way it did ordinary people, the stairwell had a draft, and Clark enjoyed feeling the breeze against his exposed skin.

At the bottom of the stairs he pressed for an elevator and waited, rocking on his feet and failing to stifle a yawn. He and Lois had been first in, last out of the office again today. The city was in the grip of a prolonged and unforecasted weather system, and everyone and their mother had an opinion as to who or what was responsible. Aside from the usual culprits; global warming, El Niño, unusual solar activity, the return of Elvis et cetera, someone around the conference table had thrown out the line that it was the electricity companies that benefited most when temperatures were like this. After a little poking around, he and Lois had dug up forged bank accounts suggesting that ProGen Power Inc- Metropolis' long-eulogised clean energy provider- was in reality a bogus company acting as the legitimate front for a branch of LexCorp, and that not only had ProGen been accountable to Luthor for years, but that it was involved in a scheme to produce illegal amounts of greenhouse emissions in order to increase and exploit the demand for alternative energy solutions.

All they had to do was prove it, and so for days the two of them had been knee deep in background research trying to red flag anomalies in financial records and find a paper trail back to LexCorp. Their work on the article had been lent a particular kind of urgency when the Planet's overburdened A/C system had finally given out some point that morning, and even though going through boxes and boxes of files was incredibly, mind-numbingly, tedious- to the extent that _even his_ threshold for concentration was tested by the appearance of imaginary winking mammals, the truth was, he reflected as he stepped inside an elevator- that he liked it.

Recent weeks had kept his partnership with Lois on hold; she had been busy covering a court case involving Patrick Monroe- a respected Metropolis Congressman who had just pleaded guilty to bribery. In a sensational twist Monroe had revealed during sentencing that a silent partner was also involved in the scam, and although he was yet to give up a name the repercussions had precipitated a series of investigations still going on in Washington. And then Clark himself had secured several front page bylines with a series of exclusives exposing an international Intergang-sponsored human trafficking racket working out of Metropolis.

So the ProGen heat wave investigation was the first time in a couple of months that they'd managed to spend any significant time at work together. But although they had barely seen each other in the office, outside the office they had been out on more not-dates on a fairly regular basis. Since the island, there had been that afternoon back at the Lane-Feldman's for the twins' birthday, and then there was that Sunday spent at the Space exhibition, and just this week they had attended a family day at the twin's school. They had even been out on a couple more date-ish not-date dates; just drinks though, nothing serious. And dinner ...once... Well, twice if you included Paris- but France was a long way to go and not offer Lois food, and the trip barely qualified as a not-date date anyway because he'd really only flown her to the Louvre so she could see the Mona Lisa in person and they could settle a late-night argument ("...And... voila!" "Huh; you're totally right. I can't believe that she has no eyebrows").

Anyway, as Clark found himself justifying a lot lately- it was all just practice; the Summer Ball was only a week away. But in his more honest moments, he had to admit there was no getting away from the fact that he and Lois were about as near to the margin as it gets when two people are both skirting dangerously close to, but being extremely diligent not to cross a line drawn firmly across their friendship. In any case, so far he thought that they were doing a good job keeping things under control. For his part, if his mind ever drifted to ...less professional matters around her, an effective strategy was to think of something incredibly mundane, something completely commonplace, something more work-appropriate; he found the best thing was to think about his stapler.

The elevator stopped and as the doors to the empty newsroom slid open, they revealed just how much havoc a broken air-conditioning system could wreak in a busy office mid-heat wave; discarded pieces of apparel lay slung on the backs of chairs, makeshift fans constructed out of folded paper littered the floor, and empty plastic cups from the water-cooler were everywhere. And then, looking past the office debris, Clark saw that the newsroom was not quite empty afterall.

When he'd left her earlier that evening, Lois had assured him faithfully and repeatedly that she was following him out the door and absolutely heading home for an early night too. So it was no great surprise to see that her light was on and that she was still hovering around her desk. He was about to call over in mock annoyance at her workaholic tendencies- possibly by making some clever Noel Cowardesque pun about Mad Dogs and the midnight oil when he realised that she wasn't actually working afterall. In fact, what she was doing caused Clark to take a sharp intake of breath and to come to a silent stop.

She was stood in profile to him right up against the edge of her desk- the yellow glow of her lamp illuminating the front half of her body and picking out a slick sheen of perspiration across her forehead and at the base of her neck. She had untucked her blouse from her skirt, and now, with her head bent in concentration and working from the top, she was busily undoing the shirt buttons. He watched as sweaty fingers struggled with the normally straightforward business of pushing plastic discs through one hole... then two... then three. Her hands skipped a couple of middle buttons before starting again on the ones underneath.

Having unfastened her shirt to her satisfaction, Clark looked on as Lois reached over and pulled her desk fan across the surface- angling it so the head was facing straight upwards. With a clunk she flicked the switch on, and the blades began to whir into action directing a steady stream of air towards the ceiling. By pressing awkwardly against the side of her desk and then arching her back so that her stomach was positioned above the angled fan head, Lois was able to flow a corridor of air current over the front half of her upper-body. Her shirt was still sticking to her in patches so she delicately lifted the loose corners of the blouse between thumb and forefinger in order to pick it off, and in a billowing motion, she began to waft cool air underneath the material. As the speed of the blades increased, she closed her eyes and let her head roll back further, exaggerating her movements to expose more skin and feel as much as the breeze as possible. Luxuriating in the sensation, after a moment or two she let go of her blouse to raise both hands to her head and unclip her hair. Her dark curls tumbled down over her shoulders and she ruffled her fingers through them like a model in a shampoo commercial. Lifting handfuls of hair free from her neck she let out a little moaned, "Oh, yeah..."

She looked entirely ridiculous- happily writhing away and sighing to herself, and Clark would have laughed ...except that it was possibly the most erotic thing he'd ever seen _in his life_. He found he was unable to take his eyes off her and for an unbearably indeterminate amount of time the two of them were just stood there, locked at opposite ends of the dimmed newsroom; Lois in carefree and unabashed wanton abandon- completely oblivious to Clark who was no more than twenty feet away, squirming in silence, and biting down hard on his lip trying to ride out the waves of desire that were making remembering to breath difficult.

He eventually got enough of a hold of himself to form the thought that he should probably alert her to his standing there. All he had to do was say something. Nothing happened. He mentally upbraided himself;_ it's easy- _just open your mouth and say something. Lois was back wafting her shirt off her skin and inwardly, he crumbled; she won't stop moving like that unless_ you say something_. His throat worked but he couldn't quite force a meaningful noise out. In contrast, words seemed far less hard to come by for Lois. Breathily, she groaned, "_God_, that feels better."

Clark barely managed to swallow down a whimper. Who talks to themselves out loud like that!? He closed his eyes tightly in an effort to try and interrupt the visual circuit. When he opened them again she had finally stopped gyrating around. But the relief proved to be only momentary because now she had turned her attention to her bottom-half. Clark looked on, barely believing what he was witnessing but dimly aware that his breathing was becoming faster and more shallow as he watched the hem of her skirt being lifted revealing leg, leg, oh God; more of her leg until the material was bunched high around her waist.

Belatedly, he realised what she was doing. He steadied himself against the corner of a desk; she was going to peel off her pantyhose. Entranced, and powerless to do anything but stare, the thought crossed his mind; if he stayed quiet- was it possible she would just keep going, stripping off her clothes piece by piece and inch by inch, and end up completely naked? He felt the animal instinct within him that just wanted her stir, even as his streak of chivalry flared; anyone could be watching this! A janitor; security; maintenance... the tech guys sometimes came up to perform overnight repairs... Hairy Steve! Hairy Steve could be stood somewhere, ogling her, _right now_...

Immediately, a more disturbing realisation superseded that thought- what was he thinking!? Was he _insane_? Him! He was stood there, _HE_ was ogling her! So he tried, he really tried- but he just couldn't tear his eyes from her hands as she slipped her thumbs under the elastic of her waistband and she bent over, wriggling from side to side to peel away the fabric from her body.

Clark swallowed away another lump in his throat as his inner voice pleaded; get. a. grip. and SAY SOMETHING! _Anything_ to make her stop. He felt his mouth moving uselessly. It was just so hard when she was making it so easy to become lost in the glorious memory of what it felt like to touch the same skin he could see being methodically and expertly exposed now, to trace his fingers over that same delicate anklebone, along the curve of that calf muscle, up past the crook of her knee...higher...higher, and then run his palms, hard, up the outside of her...

"...THIGHS!"

The word sort of burst out of his mouth, uncontrolled and unintentionally thick with lust. And, into the echoey quiet of an empty room- far,_ far_ too loudly.

"What? Woah!"

Taken by surprise, Lois spun round in the direction of the voice- a flailing arm catching the blade-cover of the fan and knocking it onto its side. It listed off the edge of the desk and she instinctively manhandled it to prevent it crashing onto the floor. Having righted it, she quickly patted down her skirt and porn star bedhead, and crossed her arms tight across her chest in an effort at making herself decent before addressing whomever had interrupted her. When she realized it was Clark, Lois found herself half-relieved, but still unable to stop the hot blush of embarrassment creeping up her neck. Choosing to ignore the inherent ignominy of the situation, she changed posture to lean casually against her desk and adopt a more professional air- as if Clark had simply walked in on her practising yoga or something. In a conversational tone, she remarked lightly,

"Clark! I, uh...didn't hear you come in?"

"...No." he agreed, unhelpfully. But it was tricky to construct a more sophisticated response when one's entire mental effort was focused on looking anywhere but the tantalising glimpse of lacy bra still visible at her chest.

Lois half-shrugged one shoulder- the expressiveness of the gesture tempered by her attempt to not disturb the sleeve of shirt that was hanging precariously there.

"I thought you called it a night?"

Clark nodded. Here it was; his chance to excuse himself- to justify his presence, to articulate clearly and confidently the reason for his return and to relay to her the perfectly innocent set of circumstances that had found him stood there, back at the office,_ gawping_ at her like Hugh Hefner at a peep show. He cleared his throat and explained seriously,

"I forgot your thighs..."

Oh. _Darn it_.

Her eyes widened, and his eyelashes flickered as he hastily attempted to correct the error,

"_My_ thighs..."

Her eyebrows went up, and he gave himself an internal shake of the lapels; SNAP OUT OF IT!

"FILES! MY FILES!" He blathered loudly before weakly stuttering, "I forgot them."

"Oh. Right."

She pretended she hadn't heard his glaringly obvious freudian slips while he pretended to not notice her surreptitious attempts to hastily rebutton her shirt, and to fill the awkward silence that settled uneasily between them he added, a shade redundantly, "I came back for them."

Lois nodded her head that that part at least, was self-evident; "Yes."

He remained very still. "I'll ...come and get them, then?"

The sentence was phrased as a question, and Lois wondered why he seemed to be asking her permission. When he didn't move, she obliged,

"Sure."

Seconds went by. He still didn't make any move toward his desk, but for some curious reason he was staring intently at his stapler.

"Is something wrong?"

"Well, no, it's just that they're..." Clark stopped mid-sentence to gesture indecipherably with his hand. "It's just that they're..." Again, he broke off, as if trying to will the words into her head. Giving that up he gulped and tried once more,

"...They're on your desk."

"Oh."

They both looked in that direction. Lois scanned her work surface and was about to ask him if he was sure, because she couldn't see them... but then, she could; Clark's forgotten files. Six of them. Stacked in a neat pile, one on top of the other with the labels on the spines facing her. And resting on top of them, magnificent in all their unassuming glory, were her recently discarded pantyhose.

"_Oh_!" Lois quickly bent to pick up the renegade undergarment with her fingers and backed away from the desk. "Sorry."

Clark's throat worked. In a high voice he assured her, "No, that's fine."

Sensing that he was suffering a lapse of his usually so reliable co-ordination skills, Lois dropped the hose onto the desk behind her, safely out of the way, and pointed at the files,

"Maybe I should bring them to you?"

He knew he couldn't trust himself to take something, _anything_, off her because there was a good chance that might involve touching her and if he touched her, there was a high probability that might lead to his ravishing her. So when she moved to pick up the files, he reacted, "No, don't..."

"It's no trouble. Here." Lois took a step back up to her desk.

"No, honestly. Please. I've got it." Clark was walking toward the files, toward her, practically begging. Without looking at him she took another step.

"-Is this all of them?"

"-Please! It's okay."

Too late. She scooped them up and he arrived just as she was turning into him. Their hands touched because they were too close, and the air crackled around them at the contact. This was dangerous. They both felt it. Clark backed off.

"Here." She held out the files, not raising her eyes from the top most folder where they were safely fixed on a self-adhesive sticker labelled in Clark's handwriting; 'ProGen Fiscal Year 1989/90'.

Clark was looking at her not looking at him. "Thanks."

But he still didn't make a move to take them. It was one of those moments, Clark considered, where if this relationship was being conducted by normal people, they would be making out by now. Oh, who was he kidding? If this relationship was being conducted by normal people they'd be _married_ by now. Instead, he was trying to not notice how devastatingly attractive he found her when she was trying not to be devastatingly attractive to him, and she was desperately attempting to regulate her pulse rate by focusing on nothing more than the innocuous detail that Clark wrote his nines like upside down sixes.

Time seemed to slow to an agonising crawl as they stood facing each other- no more than a pace apart and completely still, but acutely aware of the sounds around them; the lonely honk of a car horn out on the street, the low hum of Lois' computer, the sound of each other's strained breathing. She lifted her head and all Clark could think was how much the look in her eyes must match how he felt right now. They had bravely resisted this for so long- they had been so _good_. But something had reached breaking point, and he felt himself faltering; _I can't do this anymore_. Suddenly, the world seemed such an unimportant, trivial thing, and his need for her didn't, and now that the critical moment was upon them, they surrendered themselves to it.

Lois launched the files up and backwards as Clark tore off his glasses and threw them across the room. As loose papers fluttered wildly in the air around them, she jumped into his arms and in the same motion he swept her up, holding her as she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist and circled her arms around his neck. Her hands entangled into his hair while his hands moved wherever they could reach; across her back, over her ass, and along her bare thighs- scrunching her skirt up to her hips. Their one immediate priority became finding each other's mouths and their kisses were impatient, and passionate, and fired by a consuming need to make good on everything they'd spent too long holding back.

Clark stumbled them back against a desk and then staggered forward hitting and knocking over a chair as they both fought to find a balance between maintaining contact and co-ordinating their movements to satisfy what their body's were demanding. Moaning in pleasure as they went, he walked them forward and his foot caught the hanging cable of another desk fan- the momentum easily pulling the entire contents of someone's workspace off, and crashing onto the floor. Without a glance back at the damage, Clark finally backed her up against a wall so they could find some leverage and he held her as they deepened their kisses. She trailed her fingertips down his throat to his collar, dragging them over the hard muscles of his chest and abdomen and then sliding them back up to work on his buttons. He felt her struggling to get them undone and smiled into her mouth at her little mewls of frustration. Eventually, she simply gave up and broke the kiss long enough to fist the material either side of his shirt and just rip the whole thing open, sending buttons pinging across the floor.

God, she had wanted to do that for the longest time, and the sight of his costume revealed underneath the white of his shirt elicited a little involuntary noise of carnal satisfaction from her. They revelled in the intimacy of the moment as Lois ran her palm flat across the raised S insignia. She bent her neck so she could lay a kiss there; let him know how important he was to her- all of him, even this part, the part that had kept him away. She lifted her face back to his, and they rested their foreheads against each other catching their breath, their lips puckering to lazily kiss whatever part of the other's face happened to be underneath them at the time.

Putting her hands up to his face again she ran the short ends of his hair through her fingers and rubbed her thumbs down the side of his jaw. Nose-to-nose, she looked into his eyes and broke into a grin, like she could hardly believe what they were doing. She shook her head in wonder, telling him seriously,

"You're so hot."

His throaty chuckle initiated more kissing and when Clark moved his lips to taste the underside of her jaw, Lois rolled her head back so that he could lay hot kisses back down her neck. She pressed his head to her, running her fingers through his hair, and using her nails to scrape down the back of his scalp and neck before spreading her hands flat across his shoulder blades. His teeth grazed against her clavicle and she groaned, bucking into him.

"Lois..." he breathed back, never wanting this to end. He had missed her touch so much- it had been three months, two days, and five hours but now he found it hard to believe he could have survived even a minute without it. In between kisses she mumbled against his lips,

"You need to- put me down- get this suit off...Is there a zip?"

They crashed through the double-hinged doors of the Conference room and Clark set her gently down on the table. Bracing his arms either side of her he leaned in and rubbed the tip of her nose with his. With a dark intensity clouding his eyes he admitted simply;

"I love you."

She smiled widely, happy and content, and ran her hands slowly up the outsides of his arms.

"Good. Because I love you, too."

Folding her hands behind his neck she reached up and kissed him easily on one side of his mouth.

"Lois-"

She reached up again to lay another kiss- this time for the other side of his mouth; "Mmm?"

"There's something I've been ...wanting to say to you."

"Uh-hmmm." In between kissing his lips she was fingering the edges of his open shirt.

"Something that's been on my mind ...for quite a while."

"Ah-huh." Now she was pushing his shirt off his shoulders.

"Something...I've been... meaning to ask you..." he stuttered, half out of fear and half because she was dragging her thumb nails maddeningly down towards his belt. She put her forefinger up to his dimple and reached to kiss him again, telling him huskily,

"Ask me later."

"No, it's important."

Halfway back to his mouth she stopped and her expression cleared. She searched his eyes. "Are you okay?"

He dipped his head, smiling, "I'm..." - wonderful; amazing; glorious! Just completely in love with you and out of my mind with worry about asking you this, "...fine."

"What is it?"

"Lois," he reached out a hand to her face, more certain than ever that sometimes, when he looked into her eyes, he could see her soul. His thumb stroked along her cheek and she lifted her own hand to cover his and hold it there. He shook his head lightly without moving his eyes off her, "from the first sec-"

He stopped because something had caught his eye. Something odd.

Lois rasped, "What?"

He was staring at her hand- the one gently covering his own at her face- her left hand. Lois was trying to read the look of confusion in his eyes.

"What is it?"

On her third finger, on her engagement finger she was wearing a ring... But he _knew_ that was wrong...

A sense of dread began to build; oh no, not again.

"What is it? Clark? What's wrong?"

He was shaking his head at her, "I-I haven't asked you yet..."

"Asked me what?"

But her voice sounded strange; faraway, and distant. _He never got the chance to explain_... He reached out his other hand but it moved through empty air.

"No wait, Lois don't go. Please don't go..."

The world started to go black around the edges and Clark surfaced back into consciousness, "No. Don't go...please...

...Bwluh!"

He opened his eyes with a start, jerking his head off his desk. A piece of paper was stuck to the side of his mouth and he picked it off and through the fog of sleep he looked around, trying to get his bearings. He was at work. Someone had laid his jacket in front of him like a pillow.

A soft voice said, "Oh, hey, sleepyhead."

Lois was to his left, packing away her things to leave.

Clark squinted at her, sleep making his voice croaky and thick, "Lois?"

She looked up. His glasses sat skewed just off the bridge of his nose, his hair was all ruffled and messy, and there was an indentation of his jacket seam across his cheek. He looked so cute and it was all Lois could do not to go place a soft kiss on the crown of his head.

She thumbed in the direction of the elevators, "I was just going to head home- I've got to rest up for a day of Lucy." She smiled snapping the buckles of her shoulder bag together, "But I can stay a little while longer- if you want?"

"Uh..." Clark frowned, "What?"

Lois waved her offer away, smiling embarrassedly to herself, "Nothing, nevermind. I think you were just talking in your sleep."

He took off his glasses to rub his face and run his hands through his hair, "I must have dozed off."

"One second you were talking about winking dolphins and then the next you were out like a light." With a small grin on her face Lois hung her bag across her shoulder, "I don't think I've ever seen you do that before."

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Just a couple of hours."

"You should've woken me up."

Lois shook her head 'Nuh-uh'; "You looked so peaceful. Besides," she tapped the stack of ProGen account files on her desk, "it gave me a chance to catch up with you. Only about one hundred ninety-two thousand invoices to go and we're even."

"I was suppose to finish eighty-nine/ninety!" Clark groaned and looked around for the missing pile on his desk.

"Done." Lois came over and dropped them neatly and easily in front of him. He looked at them. This was like the opposite of his dream. He wondered idly if this Lois had taken off her pantyhose too...

"Now go home- it's Saturday already." Lois looked up from the files to see Clark flinch and innocently meet her eyes. She could_ swear_ he had just been trying to sneak a look at her legs.

She narrowed her eyes carefully. "Are you okay?"

He nodded firmly. "Fine. I just...had a dream." He swallowed. "It was very... vivid."

Lois' expression of concern melted into something else, something Clark couldn't read, something ...sadder. "I know what you mean." She cleared her throat and wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, "Anyway, this weather is kicking my ass. I can't believe it's midnight and I'm sweating." She nudged her head, "I'm going home for a cold shower."

'Me too', Clark replied internally. Out loud he said, "I can take you home?" and started to get up.

Lois gestured her thanks for the offer, "It's okay- I've got my car."

"Well, drive safely then." he said seriously.

She waved goodbye, ignoring his worry-face. She called back, "I will, and you too; don't fly into a window by accident or anything. The department of Public Safety recommends rolling down a window if you feel drowsy."

He rolled his eyes at her helpful suggestion and then made a show of opening up and being interested in reading a folder so that he could watch her walk away. He smiled to himself when she glanced back to make sure he wasn't looking and then self-consciously checked her legs over. No pantyhose, he noted; she must have removed them while he was asleep afterall.

Once the elevator doors had slid to and she was out of sight he dropped the folder and heaved a sigh of frustration at his life- and mainly at the fact that he seemed incapable of not sabotaging even his_ fantasy_ Lois-romance. Oh well, at least this time the dream got as far as the Conference room.

---

Clark managed to make it back home and not collide into anything, so Lois would have been pleased. Without turning on the lights he walked straight into his bedroom. Pale moonlight filtered in between the gaps of his blind and a pattern of vertical bars moved over his body as he perched himself at the foot of his bed and reached out to the handles of the middle drawer of his dresser; the drawer he didn't use. He pulled it gently open.

Underneath a set of pinstriped pyjamas, dark against a folded pile of crisp white linen, hidden away, out of view and safe; there was a small black velvet box. Clark picked it up and just held it- it was tiny in his long fingers. He snapped it open and moved it so the diamond on the ring caught the moonlight. The ring was beautiful- a small stone set in a delicate band of solid platinum. An heirloom, given to him the first time back on the farm after starting at the Planet...

"So." He remembered his mother had stood at the counter picking cookies off a cooling rack before putting them on a plate, "How was your first day?"

He was sat at the kitchen table, stewing. "I have a partner."

"Oh that's nice," pulling up a chair Martha had sat opposite him and placed the cookies between them, "So what's he like?"

"_She's_ pushy, bossy, rude, pigheaded, and the most dismissive, patronising..." Martha, sitting quietly, looked on as her son's voice got louder and more passionate in direct relation to the struggle of finding adjectives to do his subject justice, "..._condescending_, ...infuriating, ..._reckless_ person I've ever met;" he stabbed a finger at the table, "I had to catch a bullet!"

Unfussily Martha poured some coffee and tried to decide whether 'catch a bullet' was what the kids were calling it these days, or was meant to be taken literally. Instinct said the latter.

Clark was shaking his head, "She has the _worst_ standard of spelling I've ever seen from anyone claiming to possess a qualification in journalism- and,"

Martha raised her coffee cup to her lips, trying to hide a knowing smile. Clark looked at her worriedly,

"- I think I might be in love with her."

Before he left that night, and without opening it, his mother had presented him with the box. Understanding the fire in her son's eyes better than perhaps even he did, she had told him seriously,

"This is for just in case."

That was nearly three years ago now. But he had kept the ring all this time; he had even carried it in his pocket once or twice- as Clark- even before Lois knew. He sighed at the audacity; he supposed he must've once harbored the ludicrous ambition of coming clean to her on two simultaneous fronts, perhaps in some big, epic, epiphanic gesture. But he had come closest to actually using it only once- that night in the Fortress. Now he was glad he hadn't. If they had made things official- it would have been so much worse. He imagined them arriving back in Metropolis as an engaged couple- happily getting on with their lives, and then having to deal with Zod. How on Earth would they have explained that? He conjured the image of himself, drunk and embittered on a barstool, slapping Jimmy heartily between the shoulder blades; "Yeah, me and Lois? Wedding's off. Why? Oh, did we not mention? I gave up being Superman to live a normal life but then Earth was threatened by evil aliens, and I'm not mortal anymore. One for the road, Jim?"

He looked at the ring thinking about everything it stood for, everything he was letting slip through his fingers; asking the woman you love to marry you; to share the unimportant details of every day with you; _to lead a normal life_- the kind of things other people took for granted.

After the Fortress he tried to give the box back, but Martha, with a vehemence in her voice that he hadn't heard before or since had point-blank refused to take it; "That ring is as much a part of your birthright as anything else is."

Clark held the box thoughtfully. His mother hadn't given up hope on them...

Almost immediately he shook his head, annoyed. He was kidding himself. The idea that he and Lois would ever be anything more than friends and work colleagues was now no more than a fantasy for his dreams, and that's where it had to stay.

With solemn finality he snapped the box closed. The sound was loud in the quiet of the night. Away from the fantasy, in real life, he _had_ to keep things under control.

---

'I have everything under control.'

That was the statement that this dress was missing. Much to Lucy's dismay Lois replaced the skimpy outfit in question back on to the rail. It was the Saturday before the Friday night of the Ball; Lois' last opportunity to find something suitable to wear. She had enlisted the help of her sister because after several unsuccessful shopping trips the pressure was on.

Matters were further complicated by the heat of another stifling afternoon and the reality that the value of Lucy as second-opinion was undermined somewhat by Lois' insistence that the prospective outfit must conform to three overriding principals; she felt it needed to convey to Clark; 'One- I'm hot. Two- I'm willing. And three- don't worry about it, because rest assured, it's TOTALLY cool if we don't... BUT... I secretly wish to go to bed with you, and sometimes? At work? When you're talking to me? I'm actually daydreaming about nibbling your bottom lip.' The difficulty there was that Lois had to censor out most of the relevant parts of that description. Especially the bit about Clark and Clark's bottom lip, so to a large, if not total, extent, Lucy was operating blind.

The other major downside to Lucy's presence was the fact that ever since she had completed a community college course in millinery, she had developed an unhelpful obsession with accessorizing outfits with hats. All kinds of hats. Already, Lois had been forced to prise a trilby and at least two straw boaters out of her sister's excited grasp, doing her best to remind her; "It's really not a hat occasion, Luce." But aside from that, her sister had otherwise excellent taste and sometimes you needed someone to just tell it like it is. Operating a system of unilateral veto, Lois had spent the day emerging out of dressing rooms across the city to the sound of Lucy's discernment which, so far, had been mainly unenthusiastic;

"No."

"No."

"No."

"Yurgh, what is that ...velcro?"

"Too white."

"Too black. Lois- you are a brunette I have two words to say to you; Morticia Addams. Work with me, here."

The closest Lucy had come to a positive reaction was when she had persuaded Lois to try on a lipstick-red satin gown with an improbably huge train and velvet bows attached everywhere. Stepping out from behind the changing room curtain, Lucy's eyes had lit up,

"Heeeey, I like it! You look great. And you know what? It would be PERfect with a Bandeau-style hat trimmed with white lace- and perhaps, the suggestion of a veil?"

For the first and only time so far, Lois had had to enforce her veto;

"No. Just no. I don't like the fancy fringy bits, and, oh yeah, Scarlett O'Hara just called. Rhett's coming over, and she wants her outfit back."

Lucy had scowled and they had moved on. Now, with the heat of the afternoon receding, and the streets emptying, closing time approached as they walked past storefronts looking out for what would have to be the day's final buying opportunity. Having reached that stage where potential choice of outfit was influenced by desperation above any other primary consideration, they found themselves going through the doors of a previously-eschewed, expensive, boutique. In hope rather than expectation they rifled along the reduced to clear section, so it was an unanticipated bonus when Lois found something. She held a dress up to herself so Lucy could see.

"Hmmm, what about this?"

The strapless gown was an incredibly deep olive-green with a full length skirt. Its simple shape appealed to Lois' preference for classic style and elegance.

Lucy looked it over, "Oh, wow. I love the color." Picking up the hanging label she blanched and showed it to Lois; "Aaand not so much the price tag."

Lois' eyes widened, "I can't believe that's the _reduced_ price. Man, I can't afford this. I mean, I can't justify spending that much on a dress!" She looked to her sister for validation but she sounded unsure; "... can I?"

"No way. Absolutely not!" Lucy agreed.

"Although. It is very beautiful." Lois started to stroke the material covetously. "And the color means I can break out my strappy satin fake Jimmy Choos..."

Lucy was nodding along thoughtfully, "You do wear green very well..." Now Lucy was stroking it too.

"...And nothing else we've seen even comes close..."

"...Is that hand stitching?"

Argh! Enough! Lois steeled herself. "I should just put it back on the rail, like this, and not torture myself. Right?"

"Right." Confirmed Lucy. Showing sisterly solidarity, she came by to put a supportive hand on Lois's shoulder as Lois reluctantly rehung the beautiful dress. Lois still had to close her eyes to go through with it though.

---

**Two minutes later...**

In the empty quiet and cool of a backroom changing area the beautiful dress was now hanging from the hook of the fitting room cubicle in which Lois was undressing as she and Lucy carried on their conversation on opposite sides of the door.

"And I just found this over by the accessories. I think it would set the whole ensemble off."

Through the gap at the bottom of the door, Lois watched as her sister's hands pushed a piece of shiny, silk fabric into her eyesight. She sucked in a breath, looking at it.

"Thanks, but it's the middle of June and the temperatures have broken several records; I'm just guessing but I don't _think_ I'm going to need a shawl."

"It's not a shawl."

Lois patiently wetted her lips. "It looks alot like it might be a shawl."

"Well sure it's a shawl _now_. But I can make it into a head-wrap for you."

Into an unpromising silence Lucy offered,

"I'll just leave it there for you- just in case you change your mind."

Lois nudged it into the corner of the booth with her toes.

"And hey, you better remember to take tissues."

Undoing the top button of her pants Lois frowned, "Tissues? What for?"

"You're going to need something to mop up your date when he sees you and turns into a puddle of mush on the floor."

Lois smiled at her sister as she shrugged off her denim capris.

"Who's your date again?"

From inside the cubicle Lucy heard a faint, but unmistakably and tellingly coy; "No one."

Saying nothing, Lucy raised two sceptical eyebrows. Lois insisted "I told you- I'm not going with anyone. We never do."

"We?" Lucy enquired, failing miserably to sound innocent but not really trying that hard anyway.

"Me and Clark."

"Ah."

Lois stuck out a hip and looked heavenward, "What?"

"_Clark_."

Lois paused. "What?"

"Nothing;" Lucy singsonged, "you just get a look in your eyes whenever you say his name."

"I do not!" Lois flustered unconvincingly. "...and you can't even see my eyes!"

Lucy assured her, "Sweetie, you practically blush," before adding mischievously; "I bet you're blushing right now, aren't you?"

Lois glanced in the mirror, not really needing to because she could feel on her cheeks that Lucy was right.

"Anyway-" Lois tucked her hair behind her ear, "we're just friends."

Outside the cubicle Lucy moved her hands in the air one after the other to illustrate her point, "_He_ goes to the party with no one, and _you_ go to the party with no one..." she rolled them over each other, "and you're there together? ...And you're _just friends_." Lois couldn't see her but she knew Lucy had inverted that last part in air commas.

Conviction returned to Lois' voice with the rare opportunity of discussing her relationship with Clark and actually being honest; "It's an annual tradition. People would be upset if we didn't continue it."

"What is it with this guy?" Lucy wondered as much to herself as to Lois. "He must be pretty special."

Lois froze in a bent-over position with one leg stood inside the dress, and one leg not. "What do you mean?"

"To even come close to competing with Superman. I've got to tell you, sis," she heard the shrug in her sister's voice; "I thought he was your One."

Lois sighed quietly. How to explain?

"Well;" she started, thinking back to Niagara Falls and unable to hide the tender wistfulness in her voice, "sometimes things change."

There was silence. Lucy moved her ear nearer to the door. Inside, Lois was staring straight ahead, "And then they change some more."

Lucy was looking at the door, concerned at the sombre undertone her sister's voice had taken on. Lois chose her words carefully,

"And then you just have to live with those changes that changed...those... things."

For a few moments, and unusually for them when they were together, they were quiet.

"That's quite the talent with words there, sis. You write headlines for a living, right?"

Lois half-laughed, "Shut up." She dabbed the corner of her eye with her middle finger and would've hugged her sister if they hadn't been separated by a hinged piece of medium density fibreboard.

"And that reminds me; last Tuesday. In future, I'd appreciate a little advanced warning before you ambush me with a public English skills examination. I was under the impression I was the day's special guest!"

"Examination!" Lucy threw up her hands, "Lois; it was the _third grade_ spelling bee team!"

"Exactly! They were on a _team_, and I was on _my__ own_."

Lucy mimicked Lois' emphasis; "_Third_ grade. And anyway- I didn't have anything to do with that; it was an impromptu suggestion from Bethany-Amber Dixon's mom. And it was a good job Superman stepped in when he did because it was _supposed_ to be fun."

Lois bristled. "I _was_ having fun."

"You made the team captain cry!"

Lois rolled her eyes as she adjusted the dress. There'd been so many hot little faces close to tears that afternoon... "Which one was the team captain?"

"Bethany-Amber Dixon; the blond-haired kid with the big sticker that said TEAM CAPTAIN on it and the angry-looking mother waiting in the wings."

"Oh." Lois kind of wiggled around in front of the mirror working everything into place. She explained, "Well. Kids should learn defeat and disappointment from an early age- it's an important life skill."

Lucy fingered the door, pointing at her sister. With a tone of dramatic accusation she declared, "I hope you realise."

"Realise what?"

"That you're turning into some kind of übermonster combination of the more hardlining and neurotic parental tendencies of our mother_ AND_ our father."

Lois opened her mouth to protest, thought about it and closed it again. "Yeah, I know."

"Oh, what am I saying?" she heard her sister admit despairingly; "Yesterday, I told Zach to tidy his room so I could see my reflection on the floor."

Lois shrugged. "What's wrong with that?"

Lucy dropped onto a chair, pained by the memory. "...It was six am... and his bedroom is carpeted."

Lois thought back to their childhood as the daughters of a no-nonsense four star General and his tender-hearted but equally uncompromising wife. She chuckled,

"I can see you now- stood in Zach's doorway in rubber gloves and an apron, and dad's drill sergeant's whistle poised at your lips."

"Hey, that whistle comes in pretty handy in a house of five people and ten animals."

"And at least we know your kids will grow up understanding the importance of discipline, order, and the aesthetically-pleasing value of a well-made bed." Lois did a double-take as she regarded herself in the dressing room mirror, "_Ten_ animals?"

"The rabbits have had babies."

"I thought you had two does?"

"So did we," Lucy explained before remarking seriously, "Actually, now that you bring it up, Megan Steenberger's mom is a nurse and the last time she brought Elizabeth home after a sleepover she did take the time to mention to me that she found Elizabeth's sheet folding technique pretty impressive."

"Well," Lois fiddled with her hair, "your kids are all-round pretty impressive."

On opposites sides of the door the sisters shared a fond smile. Lois stopped what she was doing to quietly confide,

"Mom would've been really proud of you, Luce."

"Mom would've been really proud of you too, you know."

Lois smiled to herself a little sadly, "I don't know, you can't knit booties for wall certificates."

"Well, unless you lived in Soviet Russia you can't win awards for having children, so."

"I'm serious, Luce."

"_I'm_ serious, you're like this world-famous reporter-person; I don't know how you do it."

Lois reflected her sister's pride back at her; "And you have this amazing family, and you hold it all together- the children hang on your every word; I don't know how _you_ do it."

Lucy shrugged. "You're great with the kids!"

"That's because I get to give them back." Absently, Lois smoothed the material of the dress against her stomach, "My role as cool aunt Lois just about marks the boundary of my child-rearing limitations."

"What about your child-rearing ambitions?"

Lois thought about it. "Those too."

Lucy frowned at her sister's ready flippancy, "You don't think about having children?"

"Yes, Lucy," Lois replied testily, "it's on my mind constantly- during all those non-existent spare minutes I have between working on a story and, you know, sleep."

Ignoring the brusqueness of Lois' tone, Lucy pressed on with the point, "Well, I don't mean now. I mean after that? At some stage you'll allow yourself to consider the _possibility_ of a career AND motherhood. Right?"

"I guess." Lois conceded with reluctant honesty.

"There you go, then."

"You need to find a dad first, don't you?"

"Traditionally, I suppose." Lucy mused. "There are alternatives for the busy working woman these days."

Oh, for crying out loud. Lois shook her head in exasperation; "I'm not exactly _burning_ with desire to go impregnate myself JUST for the sake of it, Luce."

"Well, what about this Clark guy?"

"I told you;" Lois picked at the embroidery on the dress, "we're just friends."

"Right- because you spend _weeks_ scouring the city for a ball gown when you're just friends."

Lois paused and put her hand up to mouth; "Away team to the bridge; I _think_ I detect some sarcasm."

"I'm just trying to understand this whole going together and yet not-going together situation."

Lois touched her finger and thumbs together on both hands and gestured while speaking slowly, "I told you; it's just tradition."

Underneath her breath, but loud enough for her sister's benefit, Lucy sassed, "It's nuts, is what it is..."

This again. Lois rolled her eyes in anticipation. Here it comes...

"...when you have a guy like Superman; _right there_..."

"Lucy-"

"I just want to know that you're thinking things through?"

Thinking things through? Lois closed her eyes in silent frustration; that's_ exactly_ our problem. Lucy carried on:

"I mean, the guy obviously worships the ground you walk on-"

"Luce-"

"Do you know how many people dream of a relationship like that?"

"See, the thing is-"

"It's an insult to the legitimately unlucky in love everywhere, that you don't seem to care enough to do anything about it?"

Entirely exasperated, Lois huffed at her sister as two thoughts ran concurrently through her mind;_ '_One_-_you have NO idea, and two- I really need to get you in a room with Clark's Kryptonian parents; _It's an insult to the legitimately unlucky in love everywhere..._ I could've used that kind of thinking in my corner three months ago.'

"Lucy, please give me the benefit of the doubt when I say... with Superman... it's complicated."

Lucy lifted her shoulders, "So it's complicated? Relationships are complicated. With this Clark guy; you're each other's dates, but you're not; that's complicated! So it pays to be practical."

Lois shook her head, lost within her sister's logic. "What?"

Lucy elaborated, "It's like buying a new washer/dryer; it's a big commitment and you have to weigh it all up."

"...What?"

"I'm saying if it's my choice-" Lucy put her hands to her chest, "I choose the guy that can fly."

"Wait." Inside the booth Lois accentuated each word with a point of her finger; "You're comparing my love-life ...to buying a household appliance?"

"Pros and cons, Lo."

"Pros and cons." Lois repeated. "What would you like me to do, Lucy; draw up a bullet-pointed list?"

Lucy brushed her sister's cynicism aside, "Make fun, but think about it. On commuting bills alone; imagine how much you'd save?"

Lois basically stamped her unshoed foot, "What _exactly_ do you think our life would be like Lucy? What do you think Superman's gonna do; drop me off at work everyday? Fly me in through the window, kiss me on the cheek, tell me he'll be back to pick me up for five?" Lois mimed an imaginary and slightly crazed farewell; "Give a_ cheery wave_ to the office on the way out?"

Taken aback by the strain in Lois' voice, Lucy found herself flinching, but Lois was just realizing that her words were directed not at her sister- but at herself.

"Do you _honestly believe_ people would let us?"

Softly, Lucy admitted, "Well I don't know." After a pause, she couldn't help adding, "But think of the energy savings; look at this heat wave? Think of the environment! Think of the planet!"

Lois smiled bitterly at the unintended irony. Think of the planet? She was sick of doing nothing _but_ think of the stupid, asshole planet. Defeated, she sighed long and loudly.

"Look, it's a weird situation. I'm not certain what my current relationship is with Superman, nevermind my future one, and I really don't know what else I can say to you?"

Glad that they seemed to have ridden out the heat of the exchange, Lucy answered, "Well, I'm just saying _to you_; I hope you passed on our thanks for the twins' birthday. The kids are still talking about it now."

Lois thought back and smiled at the memory. In return for coming to Elizabeth and Zach's party she had surprised Clark with tickets to the new Space exploration exhibition at the Museum of Natural History. The show had opened a few weekends ago and they'd spent an enjoyable Sunday afternoon wandering round pieces of moon rock and Mars dust with Clark delightedly pointing out errors and factual inconsistencies.

"I did."

"And it was so sweet of him to come with you to the Literacy Fun Day. I hope you give him the school board's regards."

The fond smile faded from Lois' face; sweet of him,_ my ass_. The truth was she had done her utmost to actively hide Tuesday's event from Clark but he had caught a glimpse of the handwritten invitation Lucy had sent ('...we would be honored by your attendance at this auspishesh event') and that had been it; he had insisted on making a surprise appearance- not so much as a favor, as his philanthropic duty. Concerned that the Lane spelling-gene was obviously hereditary he felt Lois' nephew and nieces needed all the help they could get. Of course, even though _she_ was the designated guest speaker, he shoehorned in his own speech; which was full of barbed comments stressing the importance of spelling- comments aimed mostly in Lois' direction.

Not to be outdone she had waited her turn and retaliated in her keynote address, emphasizing the point that in communicating to an audience it was often not what you say that counts, but _how you say it_. And then she had delivered the coup de grace; pointing out to the audience that although Superman's views were valid in their way, he was of course, not actually a journalist, or in fact a writer. Of any kind. And certainly not at an internationally renowned newspaper like the Daily Planet...

She had practically skipped off the stage having come _this close_ to ending her speech by blowing Clark a triumphant air kiss from the podium.

"I will."

Actually, that reminded her; ingredients. She opened the door of the fitting room,

"Hey, on the way home can you drop me off at the foodstore? It's just round the corner from my place and I need strawberries."

"Oh my gosh. Lois."

She looked herself over warily. "What?"

Lucy gazed at her and whispered, "You look beautiful!"

Lois stepped out of the doorframe and blushed, "Oh."

She had pinned her hair up and the bare lines of her slender neck and shoulders suited the simple halter-neck of the bodice. From there the rest of the gown flowed into the silk crepe and chiffon of a small train. The dark green of the dress complimented the deep mahogany browns in her hair, and on her slight frame the vintage design looked stunning.

"Turn around!"

Lois gave a little whirl and the rest of the skirt shooshed gracefully after her. Lucy whistled.

"I was right- you're going to need tissues when he sees you in that dress."

"You really think so?"

"Are you kidding?" Lucy beamed at her, "The trail of drool will just be embarrassing otherwise."

Despite herself, despite everything, Lois was unable to not enter into the spirit of things and she couldn't stop a flutter of her heart.

Lucy paused. "And it wouldn't hurt to answer the door like that to Superman either..."

With a dramatic sigh Lois flounced back into the booth and swung the door closed. Through it Lucy insisted,

"But...but... you'd have such beautiful children! Have you thought about your beautiful children?"

Lois angrily jerked on the zipper of the dress, "Will you just drop it? I'm _not having_ Superman's children! I'm _never going to have_ his children! I'm never going to have_ anybody's children_!"

Saying it out loud like that forced Lois to confront what a profound judgement that was to make about her life. What a horrible thing it was to ever have to say. But she meant it. From the other side of the door there was silence. Annoyed with herself, Lois leaned forward to put her head against the door. Gently, truthfully, she heard Lucy speak up,

"You'd be a great mom."

Keeping her head to the door, Lois kind of rolled it side to side, "I wouldn't; I'd be a disaster..." she pleaded weakly.

"The children think you're wonderful."

"That's because when I babysit on Hallowe'en, we turn off the lights in Phoebe's room and all stand on her bed firing water-pistols at trick-or-treaters." Lois admitted.

Lucy smiled. "Actually it's because you let them eat marshmallow pancakes for breakfast."

Lois turned so that her back was slumped against the door. "See? My value lies in the fact that I'm a terrible role-model who supplies them with inappropriate meals. How can I be a decent mother when I don't even know what children eat for breakfast?"

"Well I think the key thing there is knowing the difference between what they like to eat and what's actually good for them."

"Exactly- and you know all that stuff!"

"I didn't to begin with; David helps me- we help each other, and you both learn as you go along. That's half the fun of being a parent!"

Lois knocked her head back in frustration.

"Lois, I mean it! You're smart, and strong, and brave-" Lucy's voice was beginning to break, "you're the best person I know ...And you'd have beautiful children."

Lois felt her heart tighten as she thought about the children she and Clark would never have. Lucy was right; they would be beautiful. They would have great hair. And, she noted sadly, they'd be able to spell.

After a moment tears came and Lois couldn't will them away, so she had to settle for wiping them away instead.

"Lucy- c'mon;" she took an unsteady breath, "please don't make me cry; I'm half-naked in a store in downtown Metropolis, and I'm not even wearing matching underwear."

Lucy choke-laughed, "I know, I'm sorry," she flapped her hands, "...I've just teared _myself_ up."

Lois looked around. "Here." She dangled a large square piece of material over the top edge of the door.

"Thanks!" Lucy blew her nose, only then recognising the makeshift handkerchief was actually the shawl. She leaned in to the door, "I just want you to be happy."

Lois leaned in close on the other side. "I...I will be happy. I'm sure I'll find a way to be happy...Okay?"

There was a loud snivel before a small voice said "okay."

"Okay." A hand appeared over the cubicle to pat Lucy on the head tenderly, "Everything'll be okay."

---

A gas explosion in Siberia meant that Clark was a little late into work on Thursday morning. By the time he arrived it was after nine and the office was already busy. Over the top of the bustle and business of regular Planet life- backchatted catcalls exchanged across the room, the groaning of printers and fax machines, and the different pitches in key of several ring tones all shrilling at once, he could sense something else. A keen air of anticipation was bubbling away in the background because tomorrow night was the Summer Ball. Over by the coffee stand, a small group had circled Louie from the Sports section, and conversation there was dominated by the issue of the Perrys; an ad hoc awards ceremony held during the after-dinner part of the evening. The awards recognised excellence amongst all kinds of fields of the paper, and the winners were judged by no one but the eponymous Editor-in-Chief. They were established by Perry as an in-house team spirit kind of a thing, and they weren't taken too seriously; least of all by Lois. That was until Clark Kent joined the staff and ended her five-year winning streak in the Best Story category. Now, one of the highlights in the run up to the Ball was the office betting pool that offered odds on which out of the two rivals would emerge triumphant.

Having won back last year's title, Lois had evened up their head-to-head contest at one-one with a story uncovering a meatpacking scandal in the fast-food industry. This year expert office opinion was split- would Perry favor Clark's Intergang investigation, or would he honor Lois' reporting of the Monroe trial? Louie was offering evens. In normal life he was the paper's chief sports writer. Right now he was sat with a pencil tucked behind one ear and a big glass jar of loose change; the entire stake went to charity and the winnings were split evenly between that year's designated event beneficiaries and an organisation of your choice. Clark joined the end of the line. When it was his turn Louie looked up and scratched behind the lobe of his ear with the stub of the pencil.

"Hey Kent, your usual?"

Clark dug around for his wallet. "Gee Louie, I think so."

Louie scribbled the details of Clark's bet on a slip of paper and handed it over.

"There you go, winnings are paid out Monday."

Clark was confidently tucking it into his inside pocket when someone approached from behind and whispered up into his ear;

"I wouldn't have had you down as a gambling man?"

"Well," he turned and answered Lois enigmatically, "then you'd be surprised."

He poured them both a coffee and together they walked back over to their desks. She held her cup up to her face in both hands. Keeping her voice low she asked,

"Everything okay? In Russia? I saw the news."

"Oh yeah. Turns out that part of the refinery's closed off for building repairs but the work detail on duty were late and no one was within a half mile radius when the canister store went up."

Lois blew out a breath as she plopped down into her chair. "That's lucky."

Clark nodded and stood beside her, resting against the edge of her desk, "How does the old saying go? I'd rather be lucky than good." He took a philosophical sip from his drink.

Looking up at him Lois' eyes danced, "So which one are you?"

He checked his watch. "Well, it's nine fifteen and nobody's died yet, so I guess, today;" he smiled at her, "I'm lucky."

Lois considered his answer. "Interesting." She squared a pile of her notes into a neat stack and scratched one side of her mouth with her pinkie thoughtfully. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see if that luck holds out until the Perrys tomorrow night?"

"Luck's got nothing to do with it." he replied in the deep tone of voice that Clark Kent saved just for her and emboldened her to drawl back,

"Is that right?"

He nodded at her.

"So." She carefully leant forward to rest her head on a platform of her folded fingers; "Where's your bet?"

Clark looked back at her steadily; "Where I think it'll win."

Her eyes fell on his jacket pocket, "Can I see?"

He told her lightly, "No, I don't think so."

She scrutinized his face, studying it for clues. He pointed at himself by circling his finger, "I wouldn't waste your time; this face gives away nothing."

Lois snorted to herself as she turned the front leaf of a file, "That's what you think. I can read you like a book."

"I'm a wall. A blank wall; ask me anything."

She glanced up, "Anything?"

He was adamant. "Anything at all."

Lois' eyes flicked down to his belt and then back up again. She smiled sweetly,

"Did you know your fly is open?"

"What?" Clark instinctively checked. He was safely zipped. "Hey!"

Lois shook her head in delight, enunciating the word to her herself so that it scrunched her nose; "Every. time."

Clark pursed his lips at her. "You just play dirty."

In her chair she leaned back leisurely, "Well, Mr Blank Wall Give-away nothing-man. Just as long as you're more forthcoming tonight." She tapped the end of a pen against her notes and then pointed the nib to gesture the very air around them before reeling off, "There's been an unbearably hot heat wave, there's talk of global warming, an energy shortfall, man-made meltdown..." she stubbed the pen at him and closed one eye; "Metropolis is eager to hear Superman's views."

Clark nodded his head along and stared off into the distance in mock self-importance; "And Superman is eager to provide them- he thinks it's a positive step if we can use the recent weather as an opportunity to address environmental issues, he feels he has a unique voice to contribute to the debate and that an interview with the city's foremost news outlet is an important move in that direction, plus..." he dropped his eyes winningly to her, "He's heard there's going to be cheesecake."

They were smiling at each other adorably when they were interrupted.

"Guys,"

They both turned to Jimmy.

"The Chief wants to see you in his office."

---

As the doors closed behind them Perry was replacing the handset of his phone and before they had even reached the chairs he informed them that he wanted to bench the ProGen story.

Lois' newshound instincts were instantly pricked, "Why? What's going on?"

"There's been a development in the Monroe investigation." Perry thumbed at the phone, "That was Matt Delgado in DC. According to sources Monroe's named _Senator McKendry_ as the silent partner. AP's reporting McKendry's going to make an announcement to clear his name and it looks like there's going to be a press conference scheduled."

Lois was surprised, she'd always written off McKendry as not involved; "I don't believe it."

Perry rubbed his hands together excitedly, "Things are gonna get sticky. And I want my best reporter there."

Lois nodded in professional agreement, "When do I leave?"

Appreciating that his years of experience in knowing how to deal with a displeased Lois Lane were about to become important factors in this conversation, Perry licked his lips before qualifying,

"...My other best reporter."

For a few seconds Lois and her editor just eyeballed each other in silence. Beside her, she felt Clark adjust his glasses. He only did that when he was uncomfortable or pretending to be uncomfortable. Wait a minute. She looked from Perry to Clark. And then back to Perry again. She moved her head forward,

"You're sending _Clark_?"

Perry shifted slightly in his seat, "Well..."

"He did say... best." Clark ventured. Bravely.

Lois turned slowly to fix him with an old-fashioned glare, "He said_ other_ best." She paused. "And what he _meant_ was 'fastest'."

At her partner's withering sigh, Lois emphasized with thumb and forefinger what she felt was the crucial difference; "You're the best _fastest_."

"Actually Lois, you're wrong."

She opened her mouth to argue but Clark cut her off,

"Grammatically-speaking, it's more correct to say I'm the best, _most fast,_ because the distinction you're drawing is between the two of us and is therefore comparative, and not absolute."

He nervously pushed at the bridge of his glasses with his index finger- an affectation entirely for Perry's benefit- before adding as an apparently charitable afterthought; "Although it is a common rule to break in speech and writing."

Lois stared. She couldn't believe him, but Perry was throwing Clark an admiring gaze,

"And that's exactly what I'm talking about." He raised a whiskery brow in Lois' direction. "You could learn a thing or two."

"Yes;" Lois agreed in a monotone, "the exciting world of the Superlative Degree. It's what the average reader goes crazy for."

"It's what the Editor-in-Chief goes crazy for."

Irritated, Lois crossed her arms and nodded to herself. In one breath she snitched, "You know what? Fine. Send Clark- if that's what you want. Monroe is MY story and you're basically sacrificing quality for expediency but whatever if you're okay with that then that's fine."

Having let her have her say Perry could turn his attention back to Clark. "I'm putting you on the first plane to DC."

"The press conference is today?" Lois glanced over at Clark.

Perry nodded, "They're saying about three o'clock EST."

Off her look of consternation he pointed over at Clark and added, "Don't worry, he'll be back tomorrow. In plenty of time for him to not accompany you to the Ball."

Lois smiled tightly in appreciation of her boss' sarcasm.

Clark cleared his throat, "And we do appreciate that, sir. But... ah, we actually kind of had evening plans." He winced. "Tonight."

Perry eyed them both suspiciously, switching his gaze from one to the other...

"_Personal_-life evening plans?"

He found their respective reactions interesting. Lois flopped her hands,

"Pfft! no! It's for the heat wave story" before Clark amended confusingly- and not to mention unnecessarily shiftily; "And it's under control, anyway. Even if it was, which it isn't."

Lois frowned and blinked at Clark's total and unhelpful lack of guile but Perry seemed satisfied and started to read through some copy. As far as he was concerned the matter was settled,

"I told you, we're sitting on ProGen for a day." Perry frowned at something in the text before reminding Clark that he would need to sign out his accreditation, hotel reservation, and flight tickets from Karen in Expenses. When there was a lack of immediate action he looked up,

"Well what are you waiting for, Kent? Move."

Lois watched Clark get up to leave. She asked plaintively, "What about me?"

Without lifting his eyes from his desk, Perry informed her distractedly, "You can move too."

Dejected, Lois rose from her chair and turned to slink away.

"Oh wait! There was something..."

Lois stopped and spun round in restored enthusiasm. You just can't keep a good reporter down!

"Yes?"

Licking his thumb to turn over a page, Perry explained, "It would be great if you could go find Jimmy and ask him to come see me-" he shook his fingers at her, "and try to be subtle and not draw attention to yourself when you do it. Thanks; you're a doll."

---

"I can't believe that!" Lois spat as she stalked out of Perry's office. She stopped briefly to holler, "JIMMAY! CHEEEF!" at the top of her voice before turning to Clark without drawing breath; "What the hell just happened?"

As they walked across the newsroom, Clark reassured her, "Don't worry about it- we can still do the interview; I'll land, check-in, cover the press conference, and come right over. No big deal. Cheesecake crisis averted."

He was smiling but Lois looked like she didn't know what the hell he was talking about. Or more accurately, didn't care.

She waved a hand crankily, "No, not that; you being sent to DC to cover a major news story instead of me."

She had walked on a few paces before she realised that Clark had stopped some way behind her. Bewildered, she turned and shrugged at him, "What?"

Clark opened a palm, "I don't see why it's such a surprise; the Chief made it quite clear- he wants to send his best reporter." He stroked his tie smooth against his chest.

With narrowed eyes Lois shook her head at him; "Oh, don't flatter yourself, Smallville." She marched to her desk and pulled up her chair. "He's only sending you because you're the only writer on staff that never opens the mini-bar."

Opposite her Clark sat down, "That's funny because I could swear Perry just said 'best reporter'." He opened a file on his desk and occupied himself with it before pointing out under his breath, "And there's nothing wrong with being frugal."

Lois leant forward, "And then he corrected himself and said 'other best_'_ reporter, and you're not anyway, you're just the best fastest; a title I am more than willing to concede to you, seeing as how it's not so much that your typing technique is in any way, shape or form superior to mine, as it is," she looked round and lowered her voice to hiss, "that you're an _alien __being_ with _superpowers_." She sat back. "And frugal? I think the word you're looking for is 'cheap'.

Clark lazed back in his chair to gaze at her and tut sadly, "Jealousy can be such an unbecoming emotion."

Returning his attention to the document before him he added, "And he corrected himself because _you_ corrected him because you're the most insanely competitive person I've ever met."

Lois slapped her papers down against the table. "No I'm not!"

"Yes, you are."

"Am not!"

"Yes, you are! Lois!" Clark admonished, "Why do you think you don't get invited to the staff softball game anymore?"

Lois looked hurt. "There's still a staff softball game?"

Clark quirked his head prissily that that was precisely his point.

"I can't believe there's still a staff softball game! I can't believe you could keep something like that from me?"

He lifted an eyebrow.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because the last time you played you hospitalized Mindy Sotherbell with a curve ball to the face."

Ms. Sotherbell was the local tv news co-anchor and also long-time rival of Lois from the days they had attended the same college journalism class. At a softball league meeting last Summer Lois had fielded a ball that she claimed had been intended for the pitcher. Unfortunately Ms. Sotherbell's head had gotten in the way.

Lois gasped in indignation_, "That_ was an _accident_! And the police agreed with me!"

"They were forced to drop the charges because of a lack of evidence;" Clark turned over a new page and pulled off a pen lid, "it's not exactly the same thing."

Stamping both feet on the floor Lois defended this grossly uncalled for besmirching of her good name, "This is so unfair- you're the one that's competitive!"

Clark simply carried on making corrections to the text he was reading, "And now you're being competitive about not being competitive."

Wounded, she reconsidered and concluded, "I'm not that bad..."

Clark straightened his papers with his fingers and stopped what he was doing to fix her with a look, "Lois, you challenged a school spelling bee team to a best of three rematch."

"Yes," Lois agreed, "because the first round was declared null and void."

"By _you_."

Oh, it was like talking to her sister. She explained; "_I was only trying to establish some ground rules_." She shrugged, "You can't win fairly without rules!"

Clark leant in. "They were ten years old!"

Lois lifted her shoulders, "Old enough to appreciate the importance of rules."

"You reduced the team captain to tears."

Lois looked up to the ceiling, sighing remorselessly, "Oh, give me a break; she turned on the waterworks and I didn't know whether to send for some tissues or enter the whole thing as her Oscar nomination reel." Lois took up her pen again before snittily adding, "Anyway, she soon perked up."

Clark looked round to make sure it was safe. "Because I flew her around the assembly hall."

"Exactly!" Lois pointed with her finger. "And don't think I didn't notice that she had somehow _magically_ recovered in time to beg you for a second turn."

"The point is you have a pathological inability to accept defeat gracefully or admit weakness."

"No, the point is Bethany-Amber Dixon is a drama queen."

"Admit it; you're a bad loser."

"And what kind of a word is 'leprechaun' anyway?" Lois crabbed, "They don't even exist!"

"Yes. As you carefully explained to an entire audience of wide-eyed school children." Clark reminded her. He bent his head to continue reading and she watched him raise his eyebrows, "I don't know why you didn't just go for the clean sweep trifecta and revealed the Great Santa Claus Lie, and why there's no such thing as the Tooth Fairy."

"Well... at least I own my competitiveness! Not like you; hyper-competitive but just in a really subtle way."

Clark shook his head at her, frowning, "That doesn't even make any sense?"

"Oh yeah? In Perry's office just now?" Lois came forward; "I could feel the vibes of smug satisfaction emanating off of you like steam from a coffee cup."

Clark blustered, "That's ...ridiculous."

She was nodding at him, "That's right, Kent. I've got your number."

"You don't have my number, Lois."

"Well, all we've got to do is wait until tomorrow. Then it'll be official and I guess we'll see; who's got who's number, and just whose number that is when they get it!"

That didn't make any sense either, but Clark didn't care; "I guess we will."

They stared each other out until Lois flipped open another file extravagantly,

"I don't know why I'm even arguing with you about this;" she chided herself. "As it stands right now- I'm the best," she wiped her hands through the air, "and that's the end of it."

Clark's brow furrowed. "How do you work that out?"

"It's a simple question of technicalities." she informed him easily. "As the current award-holder; I'm the reigning Best Story champion." Muttering loudly she moved her head in time with the rhythm of her words; "Ergo, quid pro quo; the Best."

Clark wetted his lips and mused to himself, "And yet I'm the one going to DC today."

"Because you're cheap."

"Because _I'm_ the best."

"Best_ fastest."_

"Best,_ most fast."_

"I don't know why you're arguing, you're both wrong."

Jimmy had just arrived between their desks.

Clark frowned and put his hands up in a 'Whoa, right there, fella' gesture; "I hate to quibble, but I finished magna cum laude of my third year Latin class; _nil secundus_, as it were." He took a moment to chuckle at his little Latin joke. Lois lightly shook her head. He was such a geek.

"And when we're dealing with the superlative form of an adjective or adverb, I_ think_ you'll find it's grammatically incorrect to-"

"No, I'm not talking about grammar-" Jimmy interrupted like Clark was insane, "I'm talking about who's going to win the award tomorrow night. And you're both wrong."

Lois and Clark cocked their heads to the side the same way, their contretemps quickly put aside and forgotten when presented with such a mutually significant development. The photographer belatedly realized he had perhaps relieved more of his hand than he should have.

"Uuuh..."

"Well, now that is interesting." Lois folded her hands together deliberately. "What do you know, Jimmy?"

"Uh... Noth-ing?"

"Nothing, huh? I don't know, what do you think Clark? Because it kind of looks like he might know something?"

Jimmy's eyes flickered left than right. "My lips are sealed."

Clark considered him. "Oh, he knows something."

"You'll never get it out of me."

Across the room Perry ducked in and then out of his office door to yell over, "Olsen, I hope you're not over there, blabbing!"

All three of them turned in Perry's direction. Jimmy replied, "No way, Chief!"

Lois lifted one hand; "This is a friendly chat- between friends! Right, Jimmy?"

"Uh, right."

Perry blinked, completely unconvinced. He barked, "Kent! Got your tickets yet?"

Clark tipped his finger at his forehead, "On my way, Chief."

Lois rested her eyes on Clark. "You, go get your tickets." She turned back to Jimmy. "And you, don't go anywhere."

Getting up to leave Clark eased his way past the younger man.

"Mr Kent! You're not leaving me alone with her, are you?"

Clark noted the line of sweat that had broken out on Jimmy's brow. He told him warmly, "You'll be fine! Just...some advice." He leaned in to Jimmy's ear; "Don't be a hero." With a final manly pat on the shoulder, Clark left them alone.

"I think you better sit down, Jimmy."

There was a gulp, and then a small voice pleaded, "Please somebody, help me.**"**

Salvation for Jimmy arrived in the timely and unlikely form of Richard White.

"Hey." He nodded politely at Jimmy, "Lois. Are you busy?"

Jimmy was shaking his head frantically; NO! as Lois was recalling Clark's observation that Richard only ever seemed to stop by when Clark was out of the picture. Hmm. Maybe there was something in his theory afterall...

She opened her hands, "Not at all, we're just having a friendly chat."

A thankful and relieved Jimmy took that as his cue to try and sneak away. A ruler smacked down hard onto the desk made him flinch mid-creep and stopped him in his tracks.

"Who told you you could move!" Demanded Lois before turning her attention back to Richard and enquiring sweetly, "What can I do for you?"

Richard drew a breath, "I know you've been busy lately, but any chance you've had time to take a look at the personnel files I emailed you last week?"

Lois smiled in self-satisfaction; Clark had been proved wrong. Richard was here to discuss work- not proposition her. She raised her index finger imperiously, "Actually, I have."

She bent to open a drawer and after a little rummaging laid a portfolio on her desk. After quickly consulting the relevant notes she elaborated, "Yes. You were right. I cross-checked a few names and something's definitely up at City Hall." She looked at him, "As soon as Clark and I are done with this ProGen thing I'll have some more time. I'd be excited to follow this up?"

Richard seemed to relax in relief. "That's great- that would be a big help."

Lois smiled, "No problem."

When Richard didn't make to leave, Clark's words returned to haunt Lois. Richard had appeared pretty conveniently...

She raised her eyebrows. "Anything else?"

Richard just smiled warmly at her. "Nope, that's it- thanks."

Giving Jimmy a little incline of the head to say bye, he turned to walk away. Hah, thought Lois. Clark couldn't have been more wrong; talk about your jumping to conclusions!

But then, now that Richard was gone, Lois caught sight of something- something that had not been on her desk before Richard had come over but was definitely there now. It seemed that he had left behind... a pen...

Almost at once she shook her head to clear it; she refused to be influenced by Clark's paranoia. There was probably an entirely innocent explanation- the pen had obviously slipped out of Richard's hand, and onto her desk... entirely accidentally... She shrugged it off.

"So. Jimmy." Lois fiddled around with her desk lamp. "About you knowing who tomorrow's winners are."

"I swear I'm just in charge of the playlist!"

Lois suddenly aggressively flicked on her lamplight and directed the bulb right in Jimmy's face. She spat;

"So what were you just doing in Perry's office?"

Blinking into the white light Jimmy's voice quavered in explanation; "The disco DJ's just cancelled his set; all his vinyl's melted in the heat. Now there's a gap between dinner and the live band showing up- the Chief was asking if I can hook up a couple of speakers and fill it?"

"Don't lie to me, Olsen!"

"I swear! The Chief loves a funky disco groove!"

Alerted by Lois' desk lamp, Perry leaned out of his office to bark irritably,

"Lois! How many times I have told you not to interrogate Jimmy?"

She opened her hands innocently. "I'm not ...interrogating him," she lied, "we're just discussing some photographs to run alongside a Superman interview." She fixed him with an uncompromising glare. "Right?"

"I am?"

"Sure!" Lois asserted. "For the heat wave article, you remember?" To help him with his 'memory' Lois delivered a quick kick underneath the desk.

"Ouch! I am!" he agreed.

Perry huffed. He yelled back; "You'll find out who the winners are tomorrow night when you're at the Ball, just like everyone else- when it's a surprise!"

Having just stepped back out of his office, that sentence seized Richard's attention.

Back on Lois' desk Jimmy angled the lamp away, "What interview?"

Lois moved the lamp back, "You remember; tonight!" she gritted through clenched teeth meaningfully.

Perry had had enough.

"Lois! Will you just turn that thing off and that's the end of it." Addressing the entire floor he remonstrated, "For God's Sakes, people- everyone will find out tomorrow! It's supposed to be the point! It's supposed to be goddamn fun!"

With that, everyone watched as Perry stropped away in the direction of Features.

"So, you decided to come then? To the ball?"

Lois glanced up to find Richard back at her desk.

"Oh yeah! I'm in charge of the playlist." Jimmy explained proudly, "It's quite a big responsibility."

Richard gave Jimmy a little thumbs up before redirecting his attention back to the person his question was actually intended for.

"And... you?"

"Well," Lois told him, "I wouldn't want to miss my big night... or would I..." She swivelled to spotlight the maligned photographer with her lamp again, "_Jimmy?"_

"Olsen!" Perry chastised from the other side of the room.

"I swear I never said anything!"

"Good God." His editor muttered on his way into his office, "That kid couldn't keep pet _grass_, never mind a secret."

"Great!" Richard exclaimed. "I'll pick you up at seven?"

Woah! Hey! What? Lois did a swift double-take. "Umm..."

"So, wait...tonight;" Jimmy looked confused, "am I coming round for pretend or for real...?"

"Just hold on a sec, Jimmy." Lois faced the other man and hesitated. She wanted to choose her words carefully. "Richard, see, the thing is..."

"...She's coming with me."

Jimmy, Lois, and Richard all turned to find that Clark had arrived back. Up this close, Richard was surprised by the breadth and height the guy had over him,

"Oh."

Lois got up out of her chair and stepped in,

"Well, actually that's not exactly true; Clark and I..." She waved her hands vaguely between them, "...have a tradition..."

"Hi, I don't think we've actually ever been formally introduced. Clark Kent." Clark stuck out a hand like he was making a statement of intent rather than meeting somebody. "I'm with Lois."

"He means we're together." Lois stuttered. "Professionally speaking." She added.

Richard took Clark's hand; "Richard White. Lois' editor. I guess that means..." Richard pretended to think about it, "I'm on top of her." His eyes glinted. "Professionally speaking."

Clark was smiling politely but Lois could see that his jaw was working. She watched them glare at each other. Awkward!

"Aw, this is nice. First meetings, first impressions..." She clicked an invisible camera, "Kodak moment!" and then laughed on her own in an attempt to try and leaven the tension. It didn't really work. It just prompted Jimmy to pipe up,

"Oh hey, if you like I could...?" He lifted his Nikon camera and Lois frantically tried to catch his attention and mime a disguised cutting gesture at her neck.

"Well,_ personally_ speaking;" Clark informed Richard, "Lois and I will be attending the Ball together."

"Hey, I didn't know that." Jimmy punched Clark on the shoulder delightedly. Clark just about remembered to recoil and flinch and not break Jimmy's hand. "Way to go, you guys!"

Lois did not seem to be sharing Jimmy's enthusiasm. In fact, she looked a little pissed off.

"I see. I didn't know that either." Richard held up his hands in culpability, "I didn't mean to step on any toes."

"No stepping, no toes." Lois assured him in a too high voice.

"Well. Good luck for tomorrow, anyway. To you both. I'm sure it'll be a great night." He smiled at them genuinely before turning to Jimmy,

"Can we have a quick chat about some images I need?"

"Sure." As they walked off together in the direction of Richard's office Clark could hear Jimmy asking, "Is this a chat chat or a Lois chat ...because if it's a Lois chat, if it's all the same I'd rather talk where witnesses can see us..."

"I have no vested interest in the awards tomorrow."

"Okay!"

Lois fixed her gaze on Clark with disappointment on her face.

"Well. I hope you feel suitably ashamed of yourself?"

Clark was still staring after Richard. "Mmm?"

"Could you have been any more obvious?"

All distracted innocence, Clark frowned, "What?"

"Why didn't you just club me over the head with a big stick, and drag me back to your cave?"

"I don't know what you mean." Clark replied in a tone of voice that suggested he did.

Lois made her 'Oh really?' face. "'The whole point of Clark is that people don't think'" she snitched. "I'm almost positive I've heard that somewhere before?"

Clark shifted uncomfortably.

"AND you used your Superman voice."

"I did not!" Clark protested. Then he seemed to think about it. He winced, "Did I?"

"Oh please," Lois gestured in the direction of Richard's office, "you practically laser beamed him in the face."

Catching sight of something on her desk Clark reached over, "Hey, he forgot his pen-"

Lois snatched it back off him with a speed of movement he would have been quite proud of, "Gimme that."

Sternly she announced, "I think you're going to miss your departure call."

He looked at her seriously. "I think maybe you should go to Washington, afterall."

She folded her arms, unmoved. "I'll see you at my place."

Reluctantly, and under her scrutiny Clark gathered up his things. On way his out she called after him.

"Hey!"

He turned around.

"Bring me something I like back from DC."

She watched a tiny smile form on his lips. "You can't get duty free cigarettes on internal flights."

She watched him go, shaking her head in indignation.

"Alright mister, that's it; no home-made dessert for you."

---

As Cole Porter played along in the background, Lois moved around her kitchen applying the finishing touches to a cheesecake. Swaying her hips in time to the light percussion beat, she smoothed the topping over with the blade of a pallet knife and after sucking a smear of cream cheese off the tip of her thumb, she bent down to carefully place the cake on the middle shelf of her oven, humming softly to herself, "...I've got you, deep in the heart of me...so deep in my heart that you're really a part of me, I've got you..."

From outside the kitchen she heard Clark's distinctive KNOCK KNOCK, and she lifted a stainless steel pan off a shelf to quickly check her appearance in the reflection one last time. With these not-date date things, it was important to strike a balance between making an effort- but not look as though one was trying too hard. She thought a strappy, sparkly camisole top teamed with a pair of jeans did a pretty good job; dressy, and yet casual. She leaned against the doorway to call out into the lounge; "Door's open!"

"Hey."

She swivelled her head in the opposite direction. It turned out that the knock had not come from her front door afterall- but rather her open french windows where Clark was stood looking relaxed in jeans and a faded Met U tee shirt, one shoulder halfway in, and one halfway out.

"Or, just fly right in through my window-" Lois shrugged, "whichever."

Stepping inside he grinned apologetically and gestured behind him, "I saw the lights on the balcony, sorry." From behind his back he produced a bottle of red wine, "Here, I brought you this."

Taking the bottle from him Lois inspected the label. The wine was a Cabernet Sauvignon, and it was suspiciously price-marked in francs and euros. She held it up by the neck,

"I'm guessing this isn't from the mini bar?"

"...No."

Smiling, she shook her head at him like he was hopeless, "Make yourself comfortable; I'll get glasses. Oh, would you like a drink? Or are you technically on duty?" She asked over her shoulder.

Clark settled his long frame onto Lois' couch. "No, we're fine; I did my rounds before I came over."

Disappearing to open the bottle, Lois called back out of the kitchen, "Yeah; I thought we could do the interview out there? It's such a beautiful evening."

"It really is," Clark raised his voice to shout back. "You can see for miles. You know, the skies are clear right up from DC."

Lois returned carrying a glass in each hand and kind of nudged Clark to move over a little using her knee. "Hey, what the hell happened with McKendry today?"

Clark opened his hands, "I know. I've never seen anything like it." He took his wine, "Thanks."

She sat down to face him with one leg tucked underneath and one leg dangling over the edge of the couch, "His lawyer was sweating; I mean _really_ sweating. Tv pictures zoomed in and you could see these big droplets actually forming on his brow." Lois grinned in childlike wonder; "I didn't know that was even possible in real life! I thought that it only happened on cartoons."

"Poor guy." Gazing ahead into the air, Clark swallowed a sip. "McKendry's probably halfway to Rio by now."

"Do you really think he's fled the country?"

Clark leaned back to look at Lois, "Wherever he is, he's definitely not in DC- I checked everywhere."

Lois lifted her wine to her lips and clucked, "I wonder what his family think?"

With his free hand Clark rubbed at the back of his head. "The press won't leave them alone now- they're after blood. His wife will be answering questions on her doorstep for days."

"Well," Lois cleared her throat, "let's hope we make tonight a more pleasurable press experience?" She raised her glass at him in punctuation.

Clark's eyes sparkled and he deepened his voice to an exaggerated Superhero-tone; "Why, Miss Lane, an interview with you is always a pleasurable experience!"

Together they stood up and she ushered him towards the table and chairs outside, picking up her dictaphone and flicking it on as they went.

"Gee, Superman," she reproved, "I know this is our first interview in a while... but please; call me Lois."

**---**

An hour and a half later, they were still sat out on the terrace relishing the sounds and the senses of the city on a late mild mid-Summers evening. With the formalities of the interview now over, Lois flipped closed her notepad and stepped inside to fetch a new bottle of wine. Once she had resettled opposite him and twisted off the cork Clark leaned forward to rest his chin on one hand,

"So, Miss Lane."

She poured him a glass, and corrected him. "_Lo_is."

"Where's Clark, tonight?"

She filled her own glass and he watched and waited in amusement as she configured her best poker-face. "Clark?" she asked innocently.

Clark nodded, "Clark Kent. Your co-worker?"

She righted the bottle, all the while maintaining a convincingly blank expression; "Who?"

Clark forced a smile away and tried, "Your partner?"

Taking a small sip of wine, Lois shook her head and then upturned her bottom lip; "Not ringing any bells."

Clark narrowed his eyes and prompted, "You've worked together the last three years; you see him everyday; your desks are opposite each other; he's your best friend..."

Throwing her a final scrap, Clark offered, "...He's secretly devoted to you?..."

She snapped her fingers, "Yes! Clark! Oh, _him_." Looking off into the air she scratched her chin with the back of her thumb, "Yeah. Glasses. Cheap suits. Incredibly dorkish." She chanced a look back at him. No reaction. Devilishly, and just for fun, she adopted a look of distaste and threw in; "And kind of mumbly."

Disappointingly he didn't even flinch, but instead appeared to consider her words thoughtfully, "Personally, he always struck me as a very decent kind of a guy. Not to mention good-looking."

Affecting a bored 'whatever' expression Lois opened her fingers from her glass, "What about him?"

"I was under the impression he was going to be here for the interview?"

Lois fiddled with the glass stem, "Nah, there was a last minute change of plan; he's in DC."

"Oh!" Faking a look of genuine interest, Clark enquired "Business or pleasure?"

Lois gave a little hiccup of incredulity; "_Pleasure_?_ Clark_?" She made a dramatic phff! face before explaining; "There was some press conference. Perry needed someone expendable to cover it, and he sent Clark."

Expendable? Clark coughed lightly, not really feigning ignorance anymore, "What do you mean?"

Lois scrunched her nose, "Oh, nothing," she breezed, "except there's a prize-giving at the Ball tomorrow. Do you really think there's any way Perry would have taken the chance and sent anyone that was the winner?"

Clark's face clouded in thought. Knowing she'd struck a nerve, Lois leaned in to press her advantage. "I'm just asking the question," she intoned solemnly with her palm flattened against her chest before pausing and adding gleefully, "And now you're thinking about it."

Setting his jaw, Clark fixed her with a steely glare, "I'm sure Clark will make it back in time," he assured her, "It's just a shame he couldn't be here tonight."

With her finger Lois started to draw invisible circles on the table, "To be totally honest with you Superman, I'm actually kind of glad he couldn't make it."

Off his non-reaction, Lois elaborated, "There's something of a gooseberry about him, don't you think?"

"Gooseberry?" Clark took a little measured sip.

"Yeah, you know;" Lois lowered her voice confidentially, "he's a bit of a third wheel." She paused,

"And, he can be _such_ a pantywaist."

At that Clark nearly choked back on his wine. He never won this game. Smiling delightedly, Lois finished him off;

"Not to mention prone to fits of jealous rage."

Wiping his mouth, Clark protested, "_Pantywaist_? And when am I prone to fits of jealous rage?"

Lois raised her glass to her lips and underneath half-closed eyelids just said simply; "Richard."

Clark looked singularly unimpressed. "Richard's a jerk."

"He's not a jerk. He's a nice guy;" Lois rested her head on one hand, "well-mannered; polite; considerate."

They exchanged a look. There was a pause and Lois suspected Clark's natural tendency for fair-minded openheartedness was winning through and that his stance might be softening...

"...He's a jerk."

Oh well. And she couldn't help but be slightly charmed by his uncharacteristic intolerance- this chink in Clark's otherwise flawless armor. Her eyes twinkled at him, "He always holds the door open for me."

"He's a jerk."

"The other day I saw him helping an old lady across the street."

"Jerk."

"Every other weekend, he offers free plane rides to sick children."

"Jerk."

Lois dipped her eyes to the table. "He's basically you without the spit curl and cape."

When she dared look up again he was staring at her.

"I know." he admitted softly. "That's why I hate him."

Without really thinking about it Lois reached across to take Clark's hand, "No, you don't."

Clark smiled crookedly at her, "Okay...But it's a _very_ strong dislike."

She matched his expression, and took her hand back, "Just as long as there's no fisticuffs amongst the dinner tables tomorrow."

After a swig to drain his glass Clark's face melted into a look of beguiled amusement; "Pantywaist; _fisticuffs_? Have you being reading Dorothy Parker again?"

Ignoring him she told him honestly, "I just want to enjoy the night, and I'll enjoy it more if you enjoy it, and you won't enjoy it if you're all tense and broody and," Lois gestured with a raised hand, "alpha-male-ing everywhere the whole time."

Clark held up his hands in surrender and monotoned unrepentantly; "I promise to not crush Richard White like a worm, or otherwise engage in behavior that is an embarrassment to you."

"Good. Afterall, there are more important issues that need our attention..."

Clark nodded in agreement, offering; "You honoring me with a congratulatory dance after I win Best Story."

Lois moved her head from side to side like she was weighing up how best to respond to his delusions but ended up resisting the bait, "_Or_, there's always the fun of playing guess the anonymous benefactor."

The corners of Clark's mouth quirked. Ah yes. An interesting footnote to the Ball was the unknown identity of the donor who for two years running had pledged the sum of ten thousand dollars to the Charity fund.

Lois pointed and winked at him, "Jimmy thinks Perry has a secret stash. I think it's Marylin from Food and Drink."

"Marylin?"

"Think about it;" Lois leaned in, her eyes alight with the Dickensian mystery of it all, "Old Money Metropolis family; an heiress; she only writes her column as a hobby?" She tapped at the table, "She's the only one with the opportunity AND the means."

Clark moved his mouth in thought and then sniffed, "Marylin. Interesting."

Lois quirked her head at him, "You don't know."

He blinked.

"You know?"

He blinked again. Lois blinked back.

"It's not you."

An embarrassed smile gave him away.

"It's you!" Lois slapped her hands on the tabletop, "Are you kidding me?"

Clark shrugged simply 'No'.

Lois regarded him in disbelief, "What do you? Tap up Bruce?"

He just smiled at her.

"What then? Don't tell me it's from your life-savings?"

"Actually," Clark stretched out his arms against the table and then relaxed again, "it's my winnings."

"From what? The Lotto jackpot?"

"No. Cards."

With a shrug he explained. "I play a couple of games every year. The stakes are high." Clark looked to one side and back, "_Very_ high. On one of the nights, I win big, and split it; ten thousand to the Ball, and the rest goes to Smallville Community Orphanage."

There was a stunned silence. Lois was genuinely lost for words. "Are you serious?"

He lifted his shoulders.

"But... how do you know you're going to win?"

Clark raised one finger to point at his eyes, "Because I know everyone's hand."

Lois's forehead crinkled. "Isn't that cheating?"

He shifted slightly in his chair, "I prefer to think of it as the 'Robin Hood' principle; using my powers to take from those who don't need it for the benefit of the less-fortunate."

Lois nodded. "So it's cheating?"

"Yeah."

"And you win ten thousand dollars? In one night?"

"Stan knows some pretty serious guys."

Lois was still trying to wrap her head around the idea of him in his Clark Kent persona, hunched around a table in some smokey backroom parlour, taking on serious poker players and, who knows, _gangsters_- and not just winning but _cleaning them out_,

"I can't believe you moonlight as a card shark. And it's actual money?"

Clark chuckled, "What did you think I played for?"

"I don't know?" Lois looked out into the night air; "Matchsticks? Buttons? Bales of hay?"

Staring into his drink he shook his head at her. She was fascinated by him; ten _thousand_ dollars?

She whistled, "And the whole time you wear those cheap suits."

Clark baulked, "They're not cheap!"

At her raised brow he conceded- "..._that_ cheap."

Lois spent a minute just looking him over. "I don't know why it surprises me that you surprise me."

His eyes sparkled, "Didn't anyone ever tell you to never judge a book by its cover?"

"Oh yes, silly, judgemental me;" Lois responded impenitently, "busy judging a book by its cover, whilst _all the whole time_ that book was going _out of his way_ to look all unreadable, and boring, and uninteresting" she threw a look at him, "...and wearing cheap suits."

Clark gave a despairing sigh.

"And ten thousand dollars?!?" Lois shook her head and then stopped.

"Hey, how far away are we from Atlantic City, flying-time?"

Clark squinted one eye and bobbed his head in thought, "Give or take, about-" Catching up with her, he delivered a rebuking; "No."

"Just for fun!"

"_No_."

Undaunted, Lois tucked tendrils of hair behind each ear and leaned forward excitedly to rest on her elbows, "Okay then- for charity! We'll hit the craps tables and just take a small cut for ourselves- for expenses!"

"Lois!" Clark insisted. "I'm not taking you gambling!"

She slumped back in defeat and crossed her arms. "I take it back._ You _are the pantywaist."

He smiled at her, indulgent but implacable.

"I can't believe you give money to orphans." Lois breathed- knowing that actually, the opposite was true; she could believe it. Where he was concerned, she absolutely could believe it. She scrutinized him carefully.

"You're the most incredible man I've ever met. In every last sense of the word."

Clark took a breath, "Well, you're the most incredible woman I've ever met;" he met her eyes, "in every last sense of the word."

They were quiet but energy flowed between them. In a husky tone Lois proffered, "We match, then."

She watched something dance in his eyes. Then his nose wrinkled,

"What's that smell?"

"Hmmm?" Lois answered dreamily. Her eyes had dropped to his lips.

"That smell?"

"Midnight Danger- it's by Gucci."

"No, it smells more like," Clark sniffed, "...burning?"

In the same second realization passed over them and they exclaimed simultaneously, "Cheesecake!"

---

Wearing a novelty apron given to her as a birthday present by Jimmy that said 'Reporters Do It... with Cameras and Tape Recorders!' Lois was stood at her flour-dusted kitchen counter making dough for some new cheesecake pastry. Behind her, Clark leaned against the breakfast bar and watched, taking an occasional sip of wine. On the stereo Ella Fitzgerald sang smokily about birds, and bees, and educated fleas, and encouraged listeners to fall in love.

After a while, Lois spoke up,

"Can I ask you something?"

Clark was disturbed out of his reverie- gazing at the way her shoulders moved as she worked at the dough with her hands,

"On the record or off the record?"

Lois chuckled, "I think the on-the-record part of the evening officially ended after you told that dirty polar bear joke."

"You told that dirty polar bear joke." Clark reminded her.

Lois stopped, "Oh yeah." Carrying on, she clarifed, "Well, whatever; it's an off the record thing."

Clark laid his wine glass on the counter behind and put his hands in his jean pockets, giving her his full attention. "What would you like to know?"

Lois hesitated, wanting to sound as nonchalant as possible. She gave a little cough, "Do you know what children eat for breakfast?"

There was a silence as Clark waited. And then waited some more. "Is there a punchline?"

Lois half-laughed half-sighed as she let out the breath she had been holding; "No, it's not a joke. It's a genuine question."

"Um, any specific children in mind?"

Lois could feel her heart thudding in her chest.

"No, just, you know- children as a whole. In general." She cleared her throat.

"Uh, well," Clark blew out a breath thinking and frowned, "- probably those cereals that you get free stuff in. And anything with marshmallows." he added confidently.

Marshmallows. As Lois smiled to herself he asked, "Does that answer your question?"

She puckered and then rolled her lips, "I guess," she told him. "...But what _should_ they eat? I mean, nutrition-wise?"

Oh! Clark was with her now. He geeked, "Well, breakfast is the most important meal of the day- especially for kids. Carbohydrates are essential for providing energy after waking up, and a study conducted by the National Academy of Sciences found that eating cereal improved attention and memory in schoolchildren."

Lois grinned in silent satisfaction; trust Clark to break out the statistics.

"And when I was a kid, I ate oatmeal every morning."

She quirked an eyebrow, "Gee, Kansas, I would never have guessed."

"Aw hey," Clark lamented sympathetically, "nearly an entire evening spent together and no derogatory bumpkin jokes; you were doing so well!"

With a fully-fledged smile lighting her face Lois rejoined; "It feels strange if I don't ...slip one in somewhere."

The sentence stilted when Lois stood on her toes to exert maximum pressure on the dough mixture.

Clark tilted his head, "You okay?"

"Yeah, the mixture's just a little ...soggy," she exhaled in effort.

"Can I help?"

At her look of scepticism Clark explained cockily, "I'm pretty good in the kitchen."

"Um, sure." Lois stepped away from the pastry and removed the apron. "Thanks."

He washed and dried his hands and then got to work kneading the dough with the heel of his hand. Lois stood back and watched. Considering he could flatten reinforced steel into a patty if he wanted, she was quietly impressed with his dexterity.

"What?"

"No, it's just-" Now it was her turn to be caught admiring the way his muscles on the arm nearest to her stood out every time he pushed onto the surface, "you're pretty good." she admitted. "But here- you've got to fold it over."

She demonstrated a tucking technique in the air.

"Like this?"

"No. Like this." After a second, Lois had a thought. "Here, let me show you."

Ducking underneath his arm she stood up so she was directly in front of him, and rubbed some flour onto her palms,

"Give me your hands." Doing as he was told, he offered them up and with her directing his movements, they started to press the dough together,

"Like this."

They watched their fingers entwine in the mixture, sliding in and out with each rise and fall of their bodies. Lois could feel the heat of him against her back, and it was wonderful. She closed her eyes trying to ignore every instinct that was telling her to rub into him in time with the rhythm they had created...

"See?" she breathed, "It's getting harder."

She could feel his breath on her bare shoulders and it was making the small hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

"Yes." She heard him agree at her ear. There was a catch in his voice because at such close proximity it was impossible to not breath in her scent and it was overcoming him. Underneath his arms, he felt her trembling.

"You're shivering?"

"Yes."

"Are you cold?"

She hesitated. "No."

Feeling the will to fight against himself anymore drain away, Clark left a messy trail of flour and buttery pastry mixture on her skin as he dragged his hands up over her knuckles to caress her forearms.

He told her softly, "You have goosepimples."

"I know" she confirmed, weakly.

He moved his palms back down to the pastry to re-find her hands again. Lovingly they pushed and pulled at each other's fingers- the dough now a forgotten and unnecessary prop. After dipping to lay a tender kiss on her shoulder, Clark touched his forehead to her hair and sighed,

"Lois."

"We should stop." She told him, and she really meant it too, but first she just wanted to feel his lips on hers again. Just once.

"I know."

"We should stop right now." She warned, rolling her head back to rest it on his shoulder and let him nuzzle at her exposed neck,

"I know." he repeated into her skin in between running his lips along her throat.

"This is crazy." she managed whilst holding him to her.

"I agree." he husked back, his voice muffled by the underside of her jaw.

"We're just making it harder for ourselves." She was saying the words even as she was pressing her body into his.

"You're right."

"No, I mean it."

This time as she spoke she crossed her arms over in front of her, gripped the bottom hem of her top and pulled it up and over her head. Clark helped take the flimsy material out of her grasp and threw it to the side freeing her to reach up behind and run her fingers through his hair as he bent to brush kisses along both shoulders and over the delicate straps of her bra. With his fingers pointing to the floor, starting at her hips, he spread his hands and slid them upwards to caress her along the length of her upper-body. She rocked into his touch as he pushed his palms across her flat stomach and round and up over her ribs. She felt his fingertips lightly brush the material at the swell of her breasts- the tease, and as they passed over her bra she opened her mouth to grumble at him but it came out as a strangled whimper; she was capable of nothing more as he rubbed his fingers up the sensitive skin of her under arms and past her elbows to finish by enclosing his hands over hers at the back of his neck and interlocking their fingers once more. Two dragged hand prints of pastry mixture marked a line right up her body and then back down it again as he retraced his path back to her hips so he could hold her at her waist and slowly turn her around,

"...I know."

She turned into him without ever losing contact of his body; he moved his hands up and down her spine while her arms draped loosely around his shoulders and she played with his hair. For the first time she could see what a mess she had made of him- tufts of jet black hair made tacky with baking ingredients were stood up on end and flecked with the flour from her hands- and it made her smile. She pulled her arms back and ran her palms flat down his chest so that his tee shirt was handmarked too and they matched in their messiness. Their foreheads and noses touched, but they still resisted the kiss. She shook her head lightly at him,

"I just want you so much..."

Clark could only close his eyes, "I'm dreaming again."

Lois' breath hitched, and there was a soft chuckle. "This is usually the point where I wake up."

He thumbed her dimple tenderly, tipping her chin to him so that he could find her eyes, and ask, "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

"Some..." she told him, honestly, before they finally relented. Inclining their heads, they closed their eyes, and slowly started to move in...

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

They both flinched at the interruption. Without opening her eyes Lois expelled a sigh of total irritation.

"Don't answer it." Clark whispered into her mouth.

"I'm not." she breathed back.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. This time, alot louder.

"Don't answer it..." he urged as they were forced to pull apart again.

"I'm not." she repeated more forcefully- stubbornly refusing to open her eyes and give up this moment.

There was another knock and this time Lois broke away in frustration, "Can't we be left alone for five _freakin'_ minutes?"

Clark took an X-Ray peek. On the otherside of Lois' apartment door stood Jimmy. His camera hung around his neck and was bobbing in time to the nodding of his head. He had a white headphone bud in each ear and he was singing along to himself; "Yeah, they was dancin' and singin' and movin' to the groovin'..."

"It's okay, it's just Jimmy."

Lois sagged in relief. It was just Jimmy. He would go away eventually. She was just relaxing back into Clark's arms when she remembered something. Clark watched her eyes clear and her head snap in the direction of the door;

"Oh,_ fffu_--"

---

"...funky music, white boy! Play that funky music, riiight... Play that funky music, white boy..."

Oblivious to everything but the enjoyment of the playlist he had put together for Perry, Jimmy waited patiently for Lois to answer. When she didn't he guessed Superman must have called off the interview and she had forgotten he was coming over- she was probably out chasing some exciting new story or maybe on a stake out, or whatever it was that top reporters spent their free time doing. He decided to knock once more and extra hard for good measure, and then leave. He was thusly surprised when the door latch came loose on the last rap of his knuckle.

---

Clark followed Lois' gaze worriedly, "What?"

---

Outside in the hall, Jimmy turned off his music. He touched the door to test its resistance and it creaked wider. Without stepping inside he called into the gap, "Hello?"

---

Inside, in the kitchen, they heard Jimmy yell. Clark thought his voice sounded a lot louder than it should do coming from behind wood. This mystery was quickly explained when Lois whispered; "I left the door unlocked!"

"What?_ Why!_?" Clark squeaked at her.

"_Because!"_Lois snapped back underneath her breath, "I was baking in my kitchen, and not so many visitors let themselves in through my _seventeenth floor window_!"

---

Judging it was safe, Jimmy leaned his head around the door to take a peek inside. The living room was empty.

"Hello? Miss Lane?"

---

Jimmy's voice was definitely now inside the apartment, and Lois and Clark exchanged glances.

"Maybe he'll just go away?" Clark offered.

Lois shook her head 'No' whilst she crept to retrieve her camisole from where it had landed on top of the spice rack; "I invited him over."

"Why?"

They both strained to keep their voices low,

"To photograph you for the article!"

"What?"

"It was unintentional."

"When was that decided?"

"Today."

"_When?"_

At his face of incredulous accusation Lois flapped her hand at his chest; "While you were busy comparing _testosterone levels_ with Richard!"

Clark nodded silently at her a few times,

"Great!"

---

Jimmy inched gingerly into the room. It worried him that Lois' door should be open and yet no one was around. But whilst the possibility of interrupting some kind of intruder in his friend's apartment was at the forefront of his mind, at the same time he also felt panicky that at any moment Lois would step unwittingly out of the shower or something; having to tackle an assailant/the wrath of Lois Lane- both scenarios held similar prospects for his personal safety.

He tried again, "Uh...Superman?"

---

"What's the problem?" A clearly sex-dishevelled Lois hissed at Clark. "You look fine," she told him, choosing to ignore the fact that they were both covered in food and there were bits of ingredients smeared all over their bodies and faces, "- just change."

"Into what?" Clark hissed back, pointing at his bare arms. "My invisible suit?"

"What?"

Clark touched his lips together, just beginning to comprehend the mounting complications of their current predicament. He admitted, "I'm not wearing my suit."

Lois blinked before whisper-demanding, "Why the hell not?"

Keeping an even tone he explained steadily, "I didn't think it was necessary."

Lois was aghast. "For a _Superman_ interview?"

---

"Superman? Lois?" Jimmy ventured a little further inside but left the door open should he require an escape route,

"Hellooo?"

---

"I didn't realize Jimmy would be here!" Clark pointed out defensively. "I didn't know this was going to be a _photo opportunity_!"

Lois' mind was racing, "Fine then;" she told him reasonably and shrugged, "just be Clark."

Clark stared at her. "Right." he deadpanned. "Do _you_ want to tell Jimmy how it's possible that the very same Clark Kent that filed a story from his hotel room in DC is now stood in your kitchen _two hundred miles away_? Or shall I?"

Lois regarded him. "Well, you'll just have to go home and change." She sniffed. "And there is _no need_ to be snippy."

Clark nodded that that looked like their best option, "Okay. What are you going to tell Jimmy?"

Lois blew out her cheeks, "I'll think of something, anything; I'll ...say you were delayed." She gestured with one karate-chop hand; "Just be quick."

"Okay." Clark shuffled to the doorway to see if he could make it past Jimmy unseen.

---

But Jimmy was now no more than a couple of yards away- peering tentatively behind the couch. They were cornered in her kitchen.

"Anyone home?" Jimmy cooed.

---

Clark steathily retreated back to Lois. He bit his lip in concentration, and incredibly quietly, asked, "Any other exits?"

Lois cocked her head at him. "Yes, Clark;" she hissed, "if you just pull down on that soup ladle over there, my microwave oven revolves to reveal a secret hidden passageway out onto the roof."

She said it so seriously that Clark thought he had better check.

"...Really?"

Lois strained out a disbelieving "_NO_!"

---

"Lois?"

---

Jimmy was definitely coming toward them. Clark mouthed,

"What are we going to do?"

Lois poked him in the middle of his chest and mouthed back; "You're the one with an IQ of a genius! You tell me!"

Suddenly Clark's eyes lit up; "I know!"

Thank God! Lois prepared herself to help implement his in-the-nick-of-time masterplan; "Yes?"

"...I can hide."

"There you are!"

She twisted round. "Jimmy!"

Jimmy was stood in the doorway. Directly above him Clark had pressed himself up against the ceiling.

"Didn't you hear me calling?"

"Uh, no." Lois fought to keep her eyes from giving Clark away. Out of her peripheral vision she could see that one of his legs was scrunched at an odd, and what looked to be incredibly uncomfortable, angle to avoid her light fitting.

Jimmy seemed unconvinced. "I've been knocking..."

Lois nudged her head in the direction of her stereo, "I... had my music on."

She watched his eyes flick to the stereo and then back to her as he listened. The volume was quite low; background music at best. He blinked and then mimed some door knocks in the air;

"...Pretty loud."

Lois nodded, "I... have a rare medical condition; it's very hard for me to discern certain sounds-" she waggled one hand at her ear, "especially when the ambient noise level is low."

She could practically hear Clark's eyes rolling in their sockets. She added; "I don't like to talk about it."

For the first time in the conversation Jimmy noticed the oddity of their surroundings. There was a messy lump of what looked like pastry on her countertop, and there was flour and little bits of dough everywhere- even on her face? He peered at her. And she definitely looked a little flushed.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine." She self-consciously re-straightened one strap of her top.

Jimmy narrowed his eyes. "Is ...someone else here?"

Be cool, be cool, Lois repeated to herself. "What-..." She coughed, "What makes you say that?"

Jimmy said nothing but instead his eyes fell on something beside her.

Lois followed his gaze to two half-full wine glasses and quickly reviewed her options; Lie! Lie! Lie! Or, look like a drunk in denial. She plumped for somewhere between the two...

"Actually, Superman was just here." She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "And then- he had to go."

An expression of understanding passed over Jimmy's face, "Oh, I did wonder about that." He chucked his cheek. "Darn- I knew I should've called first."

Lois nodded at him enthusiastically; "Yes, yes; you _should_ have called first. _Always_ call first." She stopped. "...Wondered about what?"

Jimmy sniffed and then gun-cocked his thumb and forefinger at her, "He's in Indonesia, right?"

"Right, Indonesia!" Lois agreed, relieved that Jimmy had provided such an easy out. She paused. "...What?"

Jimmy gave a little nod, "Because of the tsunami."

All of a sudden Lois felt very, very cold, and when she spoke her voice sounded strange to her,

"Because of the what?"

"The tsunami."

"There's..." she took a steadying breath, "been a tsunami?"

"Yeah; you haven't heard?" Jimmy relayed seriously before inclining his head knowingly; "The big guy must've just took off, huh?"

"...Yeah, he must've..." Lois trailed off.

Jimmy was nodding emphatically, "A really big one. I was watching the tv pictures before I came over, it looks pretty bad. They think it was another earthquake just off the coast; huge, point eight on the Richter scale, or something crazy like that."

Feeling ill, Lois croaked, "_When_?"

"About two hours ago- it's first thing in the morning over there."

Mistaking her expression of naked disgust for something else Jimmy threw her a look that said; sucks, huh? But Lois failed to register it as a litany of terrible images flashed through her imagination. Two hours ago. Two hours of disruption, panic, carnage. Families waking up to their home collapsing around them and crying for help- for somebody to help them; some_one_. People that Clark could have been, _should have been_ saving; ...dying. And what had they been doing instead? Fooling around behaving like a couple of teenagers. She was horrified.

Jimmy squinted his eyes, "Are you sure you're okay?"

Lois recovered sufficiently to manage, "Uh yeah- tsunami, exactly" and not throw up.

"Hey, you know? Now that you mention it, I do feel a little sick..."

She had crossed her arms and was absently rubbing her upper arms. Jimmy thought it made her look very small.

"Do you want me to get you anything?"

"No, I'm fine, I'm fine- I'll be alright."

Suddenly remembering the reason why Jimmy was stood in her kitchen while Superman was hiding on her ceiling in the first place, she apologized, "I'm sorry about your wasted trip."

Jimmy furrowed his brow and brushed her off- the universal sign for 'Don't worry about it',

"I'll see you tomorrow." He fiddled around with his ipod before holding an earphone in each hand, "For the big day!"

It took a second for her to know what he was talking about. "Yeah. Yeah." She agreed numbly, and forced a fake smile; "Can't wait."

She saw Jimmy to the door. Once he was gone she closed it softly shut until it clicked. When she turned around Clark was already at her open balcony. He looked terrible.

"I better...I'm sorry..."

"Go, for God Sake's, go." she almost shouted. All those people...

How could they have been_ so stupid?_


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N: just a quick note to acknowledge the gap in updates. My writing time is what it is and my chapter-lengths are not arbitrary, so I'm afraid I ask for your continued patience. As ever, I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

Somehow, the next time Lois opened her eyes and squinted at the alarm clock, it was morning. The numbers glowed, stark and unrepentant; 4: 22. How long had he been over there now? Almost eight hours. On the display she watched a digital segment flick position from left to right, transforming the minute numeral from a two into a three. Outside it was raining heavily. Thunder rumbled in the distance and she wondered if that was what had woken her up. She remained still and quiet, listening to the quick pizzicato _thum-thum-thum_ noises of raindrops hitting the window pane. Another minute passed and she rolled onto her side, propping herself up with an elbow so that she could feel the remote control off her bedside table and stab it in the direction of the opposite wall. Her television screen blinked alive and radiated electric light that cast moving shadows out into the room.

Tucking curls of hair behind her ears and rubbing pieces of sleep out of the corner of her eyes, she sat up a little to watch a news update but didn't bother to raise the volume off mute. She might as well ease herself in to the day. A superimposed legend; 'Indonesian Tsunami Crisis- Sumatra' appeared at the top of the screen as an overhead camera panned along the abandoned shores of a tropical coastline. Places where entire beach-front communities had once stood were now flattened areas of no-man's land pockmarked by puddles and distinguishable as the site of homesteads and properties only by the square indented footprint left behind by concrete foundations, and sometimes, here and there, the distinctive red corrugated prism shape of a roof- houseless, and incongruous, lying on the ground like discarded pieces from a child's doll set.

The report continued along with a roll call of images in quick succession. Lois had already seen some of this film in the late-night bulletins, but alot of it was new; footage of scuttled fishing boats upturned and stacked crazily on top of each other; an unbearably sad wide-angle shot of dead farm animals and coconut husks strewn all over a beach; the shot after that, where all that remained of one village was a stretch of wasted shorefront and the figure of a single mangrove tree twisting up out of the water, black and grotesque, Death waiting for the Knight, not even bothering with the pretense of a chess game.

The update returned to the studio anchor in Metropolis who then batted it back to a satellite-linked correspondent based further up the coast- the caption said Banda Aceh. After a time-delayed back and forth, and more footage of people crying and survivors picking their way through debris, the item switched focus to the international aid effort. As she had done last night, Lois continued watching until the report included Clark. He appeared on screen and she sat up a little straighter. It was such a relief to see him. Last night the best reporting of Superman's work at the disaster were clips of him disappearing in and out of shot as cameras vainly tried to follow his flight path. Now that more time had passed, the news channel had put together a speeded up sequence showing the before and after effects of his work there so that viewers could watch as survivors were rescued, water was drained, and a bridge was rebuilt, as if by magic.

A computer graphic was brought up. It demonstrated that Superman had spent the night working his way down the western provinces of Sumatra- from Aceh in the north back down to Bandar Lampung in the south. Before the report moved on to cover local news, an information bar scrolled along the bottom of the screen,

_Damage caused by the tsunami has been reported along a 700 mile stretch of Indonesian coastline. Officials report that 7,385 people are confirmed dead. The figure is expected to rise over the next few days._

Underneath the covers Lois shifted. A wave of nausea ebbed, and rolled, and broke over her again.

* * *

"Yeah, I'm literally two seconds away. The food supplies should be arriving now."

Directly beneath Bandar Lampung, on the northwest coast of Java, on the main street of a small town called Perelajang, a young man wearing glasses, a white hard hat, an orange American Red Cross jacket that was a couple of sizes too big for him, and an ID tag labeled_ Emergency Relief Co-ordinator Mathew Collins M.Eng Ph.D_ was holding a two-way radio to his face. "They're what?"

Because the light was starting to thicken, he carefully watched one capped boot in front of the other as he talked, and the unevenness of his step clacked together the megaphone and flashlight that were dangling from his belt. "What do you mean they're stuck outside?"

Before the voice on the other end of the line could answer Mathew had turned a corner and reached the block where Base Ops had been set up. The entrance to Base Ops itself was obscured by a crowd that looked to be about fifty-strong, and was bottlenecking the gateway, blocking a line of four truckloads of relief packages. He lifted the radio. "Ah. Gotcha."

Stalking up to the crowd, Mathew pushed through bodies until he was halted by the root cause of the people-jam; some kind of old 1970s pickup with no driver. He squeezed up against the window on tiptoes. And no keys. He shuffled around and slapped the cabin door."Hey! We need to move this! Who left this here? We need to get this out of the way!"

There was no reaction from anyone in the crowd that was helpful or indeed even suggested that they had heard him in the first place. Scanning over heads for something suitable, Mathew shouldered his way to the nearest building and stepped across what had once been an exterior wall of the governor's offices. A large wingbacked chair upholstered in green leather was lying on its side amongst pieces of broken marble flooring. Mathew heaved it right side up and then hesitated. The chair was rather expensive-looking. He checked his boots and then looked at the seat again. Scuffing the soles of his shoes in a gesture that was symbolic if not effective, Mathew hopped up onto the chair to try again.

"Excuse me, excuse me! This vehicle is blocking an access point. Hey! Excuse me! Who does this vehicle belong to? Can someone please get it out of the way?"

Again, he was ignored, and not for the first time in his twenty-three years, Mathew wished that he could whistle. As usual, he was forced to make up for this deficiency by waving his arms around alot. "Excuse me! Excuse me! Hey!" But no one was listening. Mathew watched as local people and white hardhats alike milled past. And one guy wearing a blue UNICEF vest walked right underneath him picking his nose. Swearing under his breath, Mathew unhooked the megaphone from his belt and slung the mouthpiece to his lips,

"THIS VEHICLE IS BLOCKING AN EMERGENCY ACCESS POINT!"

As one the entire group turned towards him and then after a sharp intake of breath, froze in position.

The instantaneous nature of their co-operation took Mathew by surprise, and he found the wide-eyed staring a little over the top, but at least, _finally_, everyone was paying attention. He did a little Fonzie-esque neck bob. "_THANK_YOU. NOW, IF SOMEONE COULD JUST PLEASE GET IT ... OUT-"

Mathew's voice fell away as he realized that people were not looking at him directly, "...OF... THE..."

Rather, their eyes seemed to be focused on a space just left of his head, directly behind his shoulder. He turned slowly. "THE... OUT OF THE..."

Level behind him was a man, a tall man, hovering in mid air with a cape hanging in the breeze. The costume was dark with dirt but out of a mud-encrusted face, a pair of uncommonly blue eyes glinted.

"...WHOA."

The eyes closed, Clark wincing as he received the megaphoned amplification of the word full in the face. He opened them one at a time and nodded to the pickup. "Need a hand?"

In answer, Mathew managed to lower the bullhorn to his side and whisper, "Superman."

Everyone watched, star struck, as the figure before them gave a small wave and then glided across to the half-ton vehicle. The gathering made way, and Superman lifted it gently to one side with even less visible effort than a farmhand might display picking up a hay bale. The delivery trucks started up their engines and began to rumble through now that their way was clear, and the movement helped spur Mathew into action. Superman was here, _here_ in front of him. He looked over towards Ops and stepped down off his chair wondering if he should go get somebody more senior? This type of scenario wasn't really covered in the training manuals.

Superman was smiling politely at him. "Hi, I'm wondering if you can help me?"

Of its own accord Mathew's mouth insisted "You're not covered in the training manuals!"

The blue eyes took a moment to process the veracity of this information. "Uh, no." Then the face cracked a slow smile and Superman pinched a fold of costume from his chest, "Just your regular top soil and filth, I'm afraid."

Seeing that the young man was not sure how to respond to that, Clark let go of the material and re-assumed an expression of wisdom and gravitas. "Nevermind."

Mathew recovered enough to explain, "I mean, we weren't expecting you. I spoke to our EO over in Bandar Lampung a couple of hours ago and it sounded like you had your hands full?"

"The Emergency Officer? That's Lena right?"

"She said you were going to have to rebuild the bridge."

"Yes."

Mathew looked confused, "So we weren't expecting you- we thought you'd be helping with the bridge and everything."

Clark nodded that that was correct. "I did. I'm done."

"You rebuilt the bridge?"

"Yes."

"The Wandinata bridge?"

"Yes."

"It's two miles long."

Clark nodded.

"You're fast."

He smiled.

Mathew was professionally impressed. "Well, I'm afraid there's nothing so exciting down here." He stopped himself, aware of how that sounded. People had died. "I mean; worthy of you." He stopped himself again; "Of your time. Not that you, categorize, or place a value on, you know, catastrophic... probably, or, maybe you do...?"

He finally stopped digging. "I mean this is the only province on Java that suffered any major structural damage; and just here, nearest the waterline." Mathew opened his hands to where they were both stood inside the building with the green chair and no walls. "We're point of delivery for all the aid supplies coming into the country." He gestured to the abandoned pickup, "Our biggest problem is getting the aid from the airport into our depot; nothing too life-threatening." The young man pressed his lips together. "That's... sort of why I'm here."

Clark smiled. "Actually, that's sort of why I'm here, too. I'm looking for theee," he checked the pen scribble on his hand, "On-Site Operations Co-ordination Center. Lena said the guy that I should talk to here is...um..." Clark read his other hand, "Doctor Matthew Collins."

Mathew pointed. "Well, that is the On-Site Operations Co-ordination Center-"

"Behind that tent?"

A pause. "It is the tent."

Superman nodded once, and graciously, as if it had been silly of him to assume anything else.

"And I'm the Doctor Mathew." Mathew blinked; "I mean, I don't- that's not how-" He shook his head to free it once and for all from the clutter, "It's just Mathew. Nice to meet you."

They shook hands. Mathew took the opportunity to try and get a better look; it was not every day that you see your name written on the hand of a celebrity. Even if it was kind of smudgy and spelled with two Ts.

Clark was smiling to himself. "You're younger than I was imagining."

Mathew resisted the word 'Ditto'. "So how can I help?"

Superman turned to look in the direction of Sumatra. "I was hoping to restore the electricity supply of the affected areas. You said everything's being stored here first, right? Everything logistical?"

Mathew nodded,"We've got steel, cablewire, generators, transformers, and civil engineering teams scheduled to start infrastructure repair first thing- as soon as it's light. I know they would appreciate your help." In the dusky half-light flashlights belonging to helmets were bobbing past. Mathew thumbed to them, "Right now everyone's coming in for something to eat."

Superman looked uneasy. Mathew hoped he hadn't been rude, "Oh, sorry, can I get you anything?" He searched his pockets and came up with an energy bar that had seen better days. "We've got thousands?"

Clark stretched his lips across his teeth, "I was really hoping to work my way back up along the coast. Before morning."

"Before morning? As in... tonight, before morning?" Mathew slowly grasped what Superman was saying.

"All I need is the materials..."

Mathew's palms were raised, "Wait a second. You're talking about a massive undertaking, huge. The entire grid's down, and even when it's online, it's patchy. Transmission lines will need re-laying everywhere, and they've had landslides all over the central regions, so you'd probably have to construct new pylons- from scratch."

"...and. Perhaps, an assistant with a qualification in Engineering?"

Mathew followed Clark's gaze to his ID tag and shook his hands, Oh no no. "I don't know anything about that- my doctorate's in Water Resources?"

"I understand. I don't want to disrupt your work here. Let me sign out the cablewire and steel, and I'll leave you alone."

Despite Superman's obvious sincerity, Mathew couldn't shake the feeling that he was letting him down and Superman was just being good about it. He worried his chin in thought. "There is one thing- The Indonesian Red Cross have been co-ordinating with the government, backing up everything administrative with digital copies- I think we might have schematics of the original transmission routes over in HQ? If they'd be helpful?"

Clark smiled and nodded that they probably would. Feeling a little better, and about a foot taller, Mathew excused himself."I'll go get hold of someone in Washington now."

"Thankyou."

Mathew turned to leave but then came back. "And you're sure I can't get you anything?"

Clark declined. "I'm fine, thankyou."

"Nothing to eat?"

"That's okay."

"Maybe a drink?"

"I'm alright."

Mathew's eyes flickered across the superhero and his dark brown costume. "...Soap?"

Clark shook his head, "I'm good. Thanks." The sooner he could get started, the quicker he could get this place back to normal. He would begin as soon as the schematics arrived from Washington. Washington. Something nagged at the back of his mind. Something important, to do with Washington...

...Perry!

"Uh, actually, Mathew?"

Mathew turned back again.

"Now that you mention it, there is something that would really help me out."

The white hardhat on Mathew's head wobbled with eagerness.

"Could you direct me to the nearest working payphone?" Superman coughed into his hand. "And... Um. You wouldn't happen to know the number for dialing out international calls?" Clark shrugged, "Would you?"

* * *

Lois angled the compact case to check her make-up. She had never called in sick to work. This was not a record she prided herself on particularly, or a personal code of practice that was strictly adhered to- it wasn't a thought that ordinarily even occurred to her. It was just simply how it was- how _she_ was. She loved her job, she loved being at work, and she found obstacles that got in the way; ...national holidays ...family commitments ...fire drills; inconvenient.

She didn't even call in sick when she was sick, and there had been a couple of times when against the advice of medical professionals and her Editor-in-Chief alike, she had dragged herself, and her germs, into the office. But it was not that she was a martyr- only that she found it hard _to admit defeat_ to illness. Besides, she had discovered that if she was not feeling too well, the best thing was to come in and sit at her desk anyway, and if she passed out, she passed out- Clark would bring her safely home.

Vacations were another sticking point. Every year around this time, she and Perry waged a running battle over taking some annual leave. Sometimes she won, and sometimes he won, but it was a source of frustration that he didn't seem to grasp the concept that in her case, personal time produced a counter effect. It made her restless and a little uneasy. On one enforced mini break she had barely lasted until mid-afternoon of the second day before her typing fingers started to get itchy and she was compelled to fetch her laptop to the poolside. Even at this distance she could easily recall her aggravation at the way her sunscreen-slick fingers greased up the keyboard.

She just found it hard to switch off. Her brain was not wired that way. One of the guys from the Science page had written an article once that Lois had read with great interest. It was about a theory that suggested Intellect could be divided into separate subcategories, and that if you scored highly in certain categories you were what was known as 'Body-kinesthetic' intelligent. The article described how adults that favored this specific type of intelligence might have difficulty keeping still, or display an above-average tendency to be fidgety.

A couple of years ago, while they were waiting for an informant to show up in some armpit or other of the city, she had been quietly and contentedly picking away at the edges of a drinks coaster only to glance up and find Clark looking at her. Ignoring the pitying expression on his face, she had primly explained the article to him, and that her habit of peeling the labels off beer bottles and her practice of the ancient art of napkin-folding was _for his information_ actually an indicator of this intrinsic intellectual bias. Clark had swigged from his bottle and said out of the side of his mouth; OR, it was actually an indicator that she was fidgety.

Whatever she was, when it came to punching her card: Lois meant business. In fact, the only occasion that she had ever seriously considered walking out of the Planet of her own free will was after that time a diorama munchkin went berserk in the middle of Lacey's. Deciding they'd better go do a little snooping, she and Clark had invested in matching green wigs, white overalls, stripy stockings and a tub of virulently orange face paint and broken in to Schott's Toy Factory- disguised as Oompa Loompas. They'd broken back out again the same night, undetected and with more than enough hard evidence to get the Toyman arrested for programming children's characters with the intent to commit larceny. Everything had gone to plan- _everything_. Everything, right up until she had returned home and got into the shower.

She tried sponging, then she tried scrubbing, and then she tried scouring- in that order- several times, but the Oompa Loompa paint didn't seem to come off. By the next morning the color appeared to have faded, and after some skilful application of cover-up, Lois had somehow convinced herself that the slight hue of her face was not that noticeable- she just looked a little jaundiced.

The true scale of Bad of the whole situation crystallized horribly when she bumped into Jimmy in the lobby and he literally gasped in shock. Jimmy, who thought nothing of attending any formal occasion in the kind of retro velveteen get-up that Huggy Bear in his heyday might have thought twice about; Jimmy, who had only recently gained internet-notoriety as the accidental star of a viral meme which, for a brief time, received more hits than the Star Wars Kid; Jimmy, who, if the occasion called for it, and even sometimes when it didn't, would go undercover _dressed as a woman_.

But she stuck it out, that excruciating ride up in a packed elevator and that walk through the main aisle of the bullpen, consoled by one thought, clinging to her one saving grace, clutching at her last straw- that at least AT LEAST she and Clark could share the humiliation together.

That gratitude dissolved into dismay the second she caught sight of him at his desk. Him, and his flawlessly normal skin tone, and, actually? Incredibly? Pit-of-the-stomach sickeningly? Kind of a healthy glow to his cheeks. That the discrepancy between them made sense with hindsight did not now make up for the fact that she had spent the rest of that miserable day as the loneliest lone butt of a variety of comments and themed asides; 'Hey, Lois. Don't worry; sometimes life gives you lemons', and 'And THAT, kids, is what really happens when you eat too many cheesepuffs', not to mention a communal humming of the Fanta jingle every time she walked past a gathering of people.

She endured it all with affability, grace, and, mostly- a smile. The worse part about the whole affair was actually the sniggering. A childhood spent as the perennial new girl lent her a sensitivity to a response that is not quite as spontaneous as laugh-out-loud amusement- and therefore not quite as trustworthy, or forgivable- that was otherwise out of character. But she didn't go home. She did not go home. And the next day, when the dye was a shade lighter but still made her look like the unlucky recipient of the world's worst tan job, AND the entire office'd had a further _twenty-four hours_ of pun-percolating time? She had not called in sick.

But this morning, in the dark, in that tricky gap in between turning off the television and actually moving from her bed, she had picked up her phone four times and nearly dialed Perry's office twice to leave a message that she wouldn't be coming to work today.

And it was not because she knew Clark wouldn't be there, or because she had spent half the night staring at her ceiling, and it was not because she felt weighed down by a responsibility to the world that she felt unqualified to handle. It was not even the thought of stepping out into the monsoon currently drenching the sidewalks of Metropolis. It was simply that she wasn't sure anymore if she could fake it. Whether she had the reserves to call upon, or the will to carry the effort and the strain of having to face the day, and fake it. Fake it that everything's normal. Fake it that everything's fine. Fake it that nothing has changed from one day to the next, from last night to this morning, from three months ago to right now. Fake it that at this precise moment, Clark wasn't a superhero, flying around on the news, on the other side of the world.

Yet, here she was. At work- extra early; as if it wasn't enough to just not give in- she wanted to stick a finger up at her fragility as well. She snapped the compact case closed and gave her reflection a last once-over in the elevator door. Hair pinned back, a vintage blouse underneath an argyle vest, pencil skirt to her knees, two-inch heels, and, across her arms, her winter trench coat and umbrella- held as if they could have been a shield and broadsword. Her make-up was perfect. She looked immaculate. She looked great. The elevator dinged its arrival. She was ready. Clark was not the only one who could wear a mask. And sometimes the disguise could be even more subtle than thick-framed glasses and a stoop. But no less effective.

The doors slid open and Perry swooshed across her path trailing an unfolding zigzag concertina of computer paper. Without an obvious glance in her direction, he said, "You look terrible."

Lois hesitated, then bobbed her head in private concession; maybe this disguise-gig needed more work afterall. Her eyes followed Perry as he strode over to a conglomerate of printers to check the wires. His cuffs were rolled up on his wrists, and by his physicality alone Lois could tell he'd obviously already been in for some time. She joined him and they stood side-by-side, Lois flicking through pages looking for specific Southeast Asian datelines only.

"Late night?"

Lois considered her answer. "No." Which was technically true. She just hadn't slept.

"You look awful."

She stopped midflick- taken aback less by the matter-of-factness of his tone, than how disquieting it felt to have one's painstakingly-constructed facade picked apart so unsparingly. "Thanks."

She left him to walk over to her desk, and hang her soaked coat and umbrella on the stand.

"Kind of dead-eyed. Tired." Perry stopped and turned and for the first time in the conversation actually seemed to look up and regard her. But to add insult to injury, it was just to tilt his head and tack on; "Pasty."

Settling at her desk Lois held up her palms in pretend-humility and said without inflection, "No no. Please. Look at me. I am blushing. Your flattery and thoughtful compliments are almost too much."

Perry went back to comparing the printouts in the piles with the ones he held in his hands. "And you're late."

Lois's eyes widened and she slowly raised her head to him. In a deliberate gesture she looked past Perry and out over the rest of the floor. Over in Perry's office it was possible to discern the uniquely strange outline of Stu and Hairy Steve bent over and unscrewing something, and a couple of desk rows away Jimmy was aggressively but unsuccessfully trying to reattach a paper tray onto a printer, muttering; "PC Load Letter? What does that even mean?" Apart from the five of them the newsroom was empty. No one else had arrived. No one else was even close to arriving. Lois pointed out past the desks and empty chairs to the far side windows where the rain was coming down in sheets, making the pinpricked yellow lights of the buildings opposite no more than impressionist splodges of pigment on a canvas of varying shades of Prussian blue.

"It's barely seven o'clock? It's not even light outside."

Offered a hook, Perry walked over. "Do you know the quotient of global news that gets made when it's not even light outside?" He cocked the hand holding the papers at her; "Exactly fifty percent."

Lois rolled her eyes. She put on her glasses in a move that was meant to telegraph 'I have important reporter stuff to do'. Perry was shuffling through the wire reports. He read the subject lines like a list and held them up one after another, flapping them in the air,

"I got ...abnormal heat waves; absconding senators; catastrophic earthquakes; _tropical rain storms_." Perry read off the last sheaf of paper before flicking it with the back of his hand; "And some nutjob in Augusta, Georgia, walking into the police department claiming he's the long lost nephew of Jesus Christ and the end of the world is nigh." Here he pointed out to the windows. There was a beat as his gesture just missed a flash of lightening and thunder roll which Lois thought would've been a cool and appropriately biblical way to punctuate his point. "And it's the same every year," he said to himself. "I guarantee it."

"_Every_ year?" In the middle of scanning a page on her desk Lois stopped and looked thoughtful. "You'd think the guy would've changed his story by now. If only for credibility's sake."

Perry nodded absently without really listening, before re-tuning, "What?"

There was a slight pause while Lois read through until the end of a sentence. She glanced back up to answer, "Credibility's sake," and then returned to her work.

Perry looked at her. "What?"

Another pause for another sentence before Lois interrupted herself again to explain without lifting her eyes; "The Augusta nutjob."

Perry's brow creased. Lois continued, "I'm saying in light of the world, you know," she waved her hand in the air vaguely, "continuing to exist every year- you'd think maybe the guy would've changed his story?"

Perry looked nonplussed. "I'm talking about the day."

"Day?"

"Yes. You know what today is?"

Lois stopped what she was doing figuring this would all go alot faster if she just surrendered herself over to the conversation entirely. In an economic succession of movement she laid her pen across the page, put her other elbow on the desk, dropped her reading glasses off her face so that they dangled from the cord around her neck, and peeled away yesterday's sheet off her Superman desk calendar. Today's cartoon Clark grinned heroically at her. In place of the S shield emblem there was a number on his chest. She read the date. "Friday the twenty-second."

"Exactly."

Moving her eyes from Perry's knowing expression, Lois checked the Superfacts! section on the calendar to see for herself what exciting events happened on Friday the twenty-second. She read through the list. Let's see. "Um, today is... National School Teacher's Day- in El Salvador."

Perry seemed ambushed by the international turn to the conversation. Jimmy walked over- not sure what the rules of the game were, but excited to join in anyway; "Ooo, Today Is; ...my building's trash collection!"

Lois re-read the calendar; "Lithuania's Goat Festival."

"The Charity Ball!"

Perry's expression glazed over with the perceived inadequacy of each successive guess. Lois's face scrunched and she read the last one on the list; "You're excited because it's Meryl Streep's birthday?"

"_No_. What the hell? Look." Perry pointed his index finger at the ceiling, "Tomorrow is the exact halfway point of the year." Two blank faces. "The Sun reaches its farthest distance north of the equator? Its highest point in the sky? The apex, the zenith, the meridian. It's the longest day, and the shortest night... the Summer Solstice...?" He paused before portentously over-stressing the syllables, "Today is Mid-summers-eeeve."

Lois groaned and Jimmy didn't. He was obviously, mercifully, less familiar with Perry's cod-psychological thoughts about human nature.

Jimmy squinted. "Midsummer's Eve?"

Lois, confused, lifted the corner of a couple of pages to check. "Isn't it usually on the twenty-fourth, or something?"

"That's the calendar date; tomorrow is the actual date." Perry pointed. "And it's the same every year."

Lois was unmoved. She returned his look steadily. "As opposed to how, like, annual events normally work?"

Ignoring her, Perry explained for Jimmy. "It's a matter of the way external forces can influence people. And it's been recognized for centuries. The Romans honored the goddess of fortune. The Druids assembled at Stonehenge. Anecdotal evidence proves that mid-summer prompts people to engage in strange and inexplicable behavior."

"Is that right?" They both looked down at Lois. "What's Jimmy's usual excuse?"

"_Heeey_."

Perry shrugged her off. "Take a look back through the annuls of history- the chronicled events of Midsummer's day; Germany, 1374- a sudden outbreak of hysteria causes the people of Aachen to experience mass hallucinations and go out onto the streets until they collapse from exhaustion; four hundred years later Freemasons founded the first Grand Lodge." He raised an eyebrow, "And back in the forties, in Chicago, one of my first assignments as a cub reporter was to go interview a judge who claimed to have witnessed the crash-landing of a UFO."

Lois suddenly leaned forward with a serious expression set on her face. "Ohmygosh; no!" She spoke very slowly, a rising voice to match her rising panic, "You're saying there might be Men from Outer Space out there? Aliens? _Walking among us_?" She flicked an internal switch and the pretense was dropped; "Hey, any idea if they can fly and leap tall buildings too?"

Perry smiled charitably at Lois's insincerity, but Jimmy was altogether more receptive and really quite taken with the idea of his boss as a young fresh-faced reporter, running around a big city, having intrepid alien adventures... and, perhaps... maybe... sporting a bow tie...? Unconsciously his fingers went to his own collar. "Alien investigations? You really did that, Chief?"

Perry nodded, looking wise. "I'm telling you; something's in the air."

Lois returned her attention to her notes, "Something's in your Bourbon."

He raised a hand at her, happy to accept her cynicism. "Gut feeling? Instinct? Reporter's hunch? Whatever you want to call it. I'm not claiming to be an expert but you don't get where I am today by not understanding the way people work. Don't take my word for it- "

"Chief."

Perry, Lois and Jimmy turned their attention leftwards to where Hairy Steve and Stu were loitering in the doorway of Perry's office. Steve's bare and almost perfectly spherical head was creating something of a solar eclipse in the lamp light behind him so their faces were a little obscured. Jimmy backed into Lois's desk a fraction, Lois thought she saw Stu's beard move; "This thing's working now." Stu thumbed at the fax machine on Perry's shelf. "Paper jam."

Perry nodded, "I'll be right there, boys." He turned back to Lois; "You know how Shakespeare referred to behavior this time of year?"

Lois blew out her cheeks. "It's a stab in the dark; in Iambic pentameter?"

"'Midsummer. Madness'." Before he walked away he stubbed Lois's desk with a bent finger. "Twelfth Night; Act three, Scene four. He coined the phrase."

From across her desk Lois called after him, "Say, you know what would be fun? You and Clark, in a room, quoting arcane literary references at each other where the rest of us who don't really care, don't really hear."

Perry stopped. "Clark?" He turned. "I'd count it as a minor victory to have him in the room at all."

Uncomfortably, Lois tilted her head to her hand so that she could replace a strand of hair. In a manner that she hoped sounded more convincing than it felt saying out loud, she flubbed; "Oh. Isn't he back from DC today?"

Jimmy leaned against the corner of her desk. "I thought he was catching the red-eye?"

Perry's face darkened, suggesting 'He was'. "He called earlier; he's stuck at Reagan. He read the departure board wrong again and missed his flight." He shook his head; Kent. "God only knows if he'll make it back in time for tonight."

Wanting to step up to the plate for him in his absence, Lois added conviction to her voice. "I keep telling him to get his glasses checked." She shrugged. "He needs a new prescription."

Perry scowled, gruffing, "He'll a need a new something else if he doesn't get here in time for the awards ceremony."

Jimmy coughed into a rolled fist, "Well, I guess it's not a total bust... Worst case scenario, Lois can always...?" Here he replaced words with a side-to-side noddyhead gesture; "Right?"

Perry shrugged a philosophical 'Well, sure', "But what's the point of getting a joint award if you don't get it _jointly_?"

Almost immediately, he froze in reflex. "Ooo. Whoops. Um."

Lois lifted her shoulders, "Look Chief, I'm sure if Clark can be here, then he'll be here." Then she blinked at him. "I'm sorry, what did you just say? Did you just say 'jointly'?"

In an extremely slow movement, Jimmy folded one arm into the other and decided he might as well throw in the Silent Head Tilt of Disgust at his boss for good measure.

To his horror, Perry reddened, "Uh, that's in the _hypothetical_ instance that you and Clark may have won Best Story." His pupils moved to one side and back. "Jointly."

Perry closed his eyes in anticipation of the inevitable lecture detailing the rank injustice of having to share an award with Clark, the lack of decision involved in having to share an award with anyone anyway, and then- if that was not bad enough- telling her about it _by accident_, but it did not come. Instead Lois looked ...delighted, and then sad.

"Jointly?" She gave a soft laugh. "We won... we both won."

That Perry added "Hypothetically" did nothing to prevent Jimmy's loud tut of disappointment.

To herself, Lois said, "I can't believe it."

"_I know_." Jimmy mimed picking up and looking into an imaginary sack, "Hey everyone! An empty bag!" He waved it around in the air before pointing at the ground. "And, oh no, look! There goes the cat."

Perry's lips thinned at the young man's brazen skirting of the line as he wagged a finger at them both. "Just act surprised when I call out both your names! Or this time? _All three_ of you'll be on weather page duty."

He stopped. "Jointly!"

* * *

Somewhere out in the musky darkness of a plantation belt in the southernmost province of Sumatra, Clark was knelt on one knee beside a long thin trench in the ground. A birdcall that he could not identify cried out overhead. Nearby, crickets and katydids chirped in the grass and trees.

"So, um, have you ever done anything like this before?"

Beside Clark, Mathew was crouched with a knapsack, directing a flashlight. He had thought; screw it, and decided to come. Afterall, how many people get the chance to fly with Superman whilst not being at the same time perilously close to death? He watched fascinated, and dodging the sparks, as Superman solved the problem of connecting two uneven ends of onefifty kilavolt cablewire with a bare-hands-and-butterfly-knot technique.

Superman sounded confident. "It's just like switching on the Centennial Square Christmas Tree, right?"

Mathew grinned- "I wouldn't know. I've never been." He paused. "I've never even been to Metropolis."

Superman's face lit up, "Oh, you should go! This year! The crowds, and rides, a Ferris wheel. Hot chestnut stands. All the store fronts are decorated- the whole of Fifth Avenue." Clark rocked back on his heel. "And it's even more beautiful from the air. Every year, Lois makes me..." He stopped himself with an embarrassed smile, before admitting softly, "If there's a prevailing wind, and you're high enough, you can see the illuminations from Metropolis all the way up to Gotham. It's very," There was the slightest of hesitations while Clark substituted the word 'romantic'. "Pretty."

A long silence followed as Superman worked and Mathew weighed things up. He decided he better come clean. "I should probably tell you, I'm actually kind of a Lois Lane groupie."

Superman looked up, one eyebrow slowly peaking in interest. The gesture helped remind Mathew he was speaking to a man who could snap him in half with his pinky...

"Oh, but not in a psycho Kathy Bates-way..." he backtracked quickly, adjusting his glasses. "Of her writing, I mean; well, you know- it's more that the International edition of the Planet's the only paper I buy."

Superman's eyebrow returned to its normal position and he nodded- but Mathew felt it was less with satisfaction at his answer and more with the cold detachment of some kind of elite bodyguard- assessing and deciding the person in front of him held absolutely no potential threat to their client's safety. When the nodding stopped, Superman said simply, "They have some excellent journalists."

"Well, yeah. And I like the crossword."

Superman flat-out smiled and even though it was crazy Mathew felt relieved. He scratched the side of his face with a finger. "There was one particular story, actually. From a couple of years ago? With that other guy- Kent whatshisname- her partner. About gangsters in Metropolis? When the police busted up that cocaine ring."

"Oh, I remember that one." Clark paused. "That they did."

Mathew nodded at the memory. "I wish someone would write that story here- I mean, not with gangsters and stuff- not specifically. But, right now for instance? With all the media interest? Things go to the top of the agenda. Things _get done_."

Superman frowned.

"And then it's over. Interest wanes and everyone disappears- they swoop in, and then swoop back out again- no offense."

Clark held up his hands that none was taken.

"It's just the same thing happens in places like this- all over the world, all the time. I spent last Christmas in Harare. I watched government officials stealing boxes of aid; making money- off normal people, children." Mathew shrugged. "And no one knows." He smiled. "That story made a difference. It was powerful enough to make a difference."

Superman was looking at him. "If you like, when I get back to Metropolis, I could probably mention something-"

He was interrupted by the sound of static.

"_Okay guys, we're ready at this end."_

Mathew picked up the radio. "Understood." From his knapsack he removed a remote receiver, adjusted a couple of the dials and then passed it over to Clark. For a moment they looked at it and then at each other.

Mathew bit his lip; "Do you really think this is going to work?" He frowned; "There's no way this is going to work."

"Only one way to find out." Superman's finger hovered over a switch on the console. In a very serious, formal voice, he addressed an imaginary crowd, "Mr Mayor, it is my honor and my pleasure to declare the Metropolis Christmas Light Festival... open!"

Clark flipped the switch. Behind them, on the horizon, out of the darkness, a town suddenly appeared. Mathew laughed in delight and didn't think twice about raising his palm to invite Superman to slap it in a triumphant high five. While Mathew tried not to make a big deal of cradling the throbbing fingers of his stinging, and now numbing hand, Clark consulted the map.

"Okay, one town down." He looked up in determination. "Only an entire island to go."

* * *

Arms folded, leaning against the coffee station, Lois stared out at the rain whilst she waited for a new pot to brew. It was not quite noon but she was already on her sixth cup; she realized she was basically chain-drinking French roast coffee, and yet the net effect left her feeling both wired and tired, when she would have preferred relaxed but functioning. Or just something to take the edge off. She sighed; caffeine. In so many ways, such an imperfect and unsatisfactory substitute for a nicotine habit.

She had passed the morning trying to get stuck back into the ProGen accounts but in reality spent the time with half an eye on news reports attempting to interpret Clark's progress- expert analysis seemed agreed that he was probably responsible for the restoration of electrical systems taking place in Sumatra- and half an eye watching the doors, in the perhaps vain hope that at any point he might make it in to work afterall. Around her, lunchtime conversations were turning to tonight. Female voices hotly debated wardrobe readjustments, particularly the merits of color co-ordinating chiffon and silk with rain slickers and galoshes, and there seemed to be a question mark over whether the Ritz Plaza would have to provide a party tent.

She wished she could get into it too; the excitement, and the frivolity. But today she'd never felt more dislocated from the atmosphere of the Planet. At some point a tsunami in Indonesia had become just one more event in another day in the newsroom; terrible and unconscionable, but still just a news story. Life goes on. For other people- life goes on. While Clark spent his lunchbreaks struggling as a standard bearer against whatever nature could throw up next, people talked about clothes. The nearest the disaster had come to directly affecting the lives of anyone in the office was the sad news that alongside the three American students in the unconfirmed death toll it looked like they'd also lost one of their own. AP was reporting that the Bali Gazette was missing its chief staff writer; an ex-pat who had been vacationing up in one of the beach resorts that didn't exist anymore.

Lois removed the pot from the hot plate and poured coffee into her mug whilst her right hand pinched one edge of a sugar packet and shook it violently in the air. She expertly ripped the top of the sachet open with her teeth, and as she emptied the contents into the drink a snatch of conversation, a word, caught her ear. It had come from behind her where a huddle of four comprising Gil and a bunch of old hands of the bullpen were leaning against a pillar, gossiping. Seb, the youngest of the quartet at just under forty was picking blueberries out of his muffin as Charlie- the eldest- watched. Stirring her coffee, Lois tilted her head towards the group with interest. The other guy, Lance, was swilling a soda can whilst talking.

"Did you hear about that town in the south? Polo-something? Just disappeared off the map? Whoosh. Gone." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that."

Gil said "It's a tragedy" before Lois heard Seb add, "Dick from Finance said the place would've been okay if he got there sooner."

She finished stirring the coffee and laid the spoon down. The mug was hot so Lois had to pick it up by the handle. She turned to walk away, back to her desk, wishing she could close her ears.

"I wonder what took him so long?"

"Maybe he was busy."

"Doing what?"

She stopped. Behind her Gil was shrugging. "What do you mean; 'Doing what'? I don't know? Doing anything;" he frowned, "whatever it is he's doing when he's not out saving people?"

"Saving people IS his job- what else would he be doing? What's the point of him otherwise?"

There were considered Mmms of assent from Charlie and Seb- still busy finishing off the muffin. Lois felt her scalp prickle.

"I'm just saying the guy can't be everywhere all the time."

"Well, obviously. Except last night there was no 'everywhere' else for him to be; you know, no fires, eruptions, explosions, no major incidents anywhere-" a gap while Lance took a sip, "so why the big delay?"

She found herself having difficulty keeping her coffee hand steady as her breathing got harder.

"I don't know- could be anything."

"Maybe he's got a hobby?"

"Maybe he was asleep?"

"Maybe he was watching tv!" Seb snorted. "The Generals were on last night."

"I don't like to miss play-off games, either." Lois recognized the crackly voice as Charlie's, who had so far said nothing. Everyone chuckled.

"Well, what's his usual response rate, anyway?"

"What, like a batting average?" She could hear Seb's grin of amusement at Gil's question. "You know what they say. That all depends."

Lance burped. "On what?"

"On whether it's for everyone else..."

Knowing what was coming up, Lois's judgment reasoned with the better part of herself; leave it alone. Don't make a scene. They don't know what they're talking about and you're tired, and cranky, and overly-sensitive. She began walking again.

"...or whether it's for Lois."

And there it was- the punchline. It was followed by alot of schoolboy sniggering. Lois came to a second halt, just short of her desk. She made up the rest of the distance and put down the coffee cup before turning back again. It was the sniggering that did it. She never could stand sniggering.

Because of where he was stood, it was Gil that saw her first, and he was humbled into silence by a mixture of that particular shame at being caught making fun at the expense of someone who turns out to be stood directly behind you the whole time, and just a more general, conditioned, learnt fear of Lois. The laughter died on his lips, initiating a domino effect as one by one the group was quietened in similar fashion.

Lois was smiling sweetly. "Something funny, fellas?"

Somehow, her open face and cheeriness of tone made this situation all the more dangerous.

"What's the joke?" Regarding each of them in turn she could practically smell the fear. "C'mon, don't get all shy on me now." The smile tightened. "What's the joke?" And there it was. The edge to her voice they had been waiting for.

In an unspoken decision, Gil accepted the responsibility and stepped forward as the group's foreperson. "Uh, we... uh..."

"Can't remember, huh?" Lois nodded her head in sympathetic understanding. "Don't worry about it; I'm terrible at remembering jokes too. Terrible! Usually. Well," she made a show of scratching the side of her nose with her thumbnail, "except for right now, actually- I've got a good one." The smile had gone. "...No! Four." She eyed them up. "But I guess it's easier to remember jokes when you can look at 'em."

Alerted by the emotion evident in a raised voice, people nearby started to stop what they were doing and pay attention. Charlie squirmed whilst Seb was able to direct his gaze everywhere but at Lois. Lance was staring into his can but unfortunately it did not suddenly turn into a big hole in the ground that swallowed him up. Lois looked disgusted. She exuded controlled menace. She was enraged but she had a point to make and it made her voice thin, "Who the hell do you think you are? Who's he answerable to?" She gestured with her chin. "You? You? You, Gil?" It burned within her- the injustice of their contempt when Clark could not be here to defend himself. How_ dare_ they judge?

"You know, it's strange. I don't remember you laughing so hard when he rushed Margaret into the ER after she sat on that bee last summer?" Lois's eyes switched targets, "Or you, Lance. When you had your accident." The fingers of Lance's left hand subconsciously stretched round the curve of the can to a raised white line just above the knuckles where surgeons reattached his right hand's middle fingers.

"Or what about you, Seb? Where were these clowns when he spent all night looking for your _stupid_ poodle. I guess they were busy?" She paused for effect. "I guess maybe it was play-off season?"

Charlie's face burned.

"My _God_. Every single one of us. This entire office?"

The entire office was now silent and listening although Lois was oblivious to it. She pointed over to a framed front page that showed an apocalyptic vision of the street outside the Daily Planet, and, stood proudly in the middle of burnt out cars and shattered news stands- Zod.

"They came after _us_. They were _here_. And Superman saved our lives."

Someone's phone was ringing but nobody was picking it up. In a rush of breath Lois appealed for reason, "He's out there, all the time, trying to make a difference, and you're stood around... eating muffins, gazing at your navels, flicking the crumbs off your shirt, _bitching_ about HIS performance record!" She got her breath back before turning to Lance.

"And by the way, the town that you were so impressively mispronouncing earlier is actually called Pulau Buteng, and it was hit by a wave approximately twenty-one minutes before the Pacific Tsunami Warning Center was able to issue its first bulletin alerting Jakarta about the tremor. Lois was shaking her head. "_Their job_ is to warn people and they were still too late, so unless _Dick_ from Finance thinks it would be a better use of Superman's time to patrol the planet's seabeds on a permanent round-the-clock basis, OR he's about to unveil his amazing new earthquake prediction device, I'd suggest you tell him it would be great if he kept his quaint but ridiculous little criticisms to himself."

The phone had stopped ringing. In the background a news station intro played.

"He's _one man_... on a planet of billions." Lois shrugged. "What do you expect from him?"

Over by the copy desks Jimmy fiddled with his camera. Both Perry and Richard were now stood at their doors.

"At_ any_ time- anywhere- he could be doing anything." She threw up a hand towards Gil's huddle in despair. "Answering the pleas to save a wife, OR a bowling hand, OR a pet dog- or any one of the other_ thousands_ of acts of rescue, big and small, momentous and insignificant, that he gives himself up to every. moment. of his waking existence. _It never stops_."

Her breathing was ragged. She raised both arms. "Who knows where he was last night? He might have been somewhere, doing something really, really important!"

The unnatural stillness of the newsroom held sway for an uncomfortable moment before it was broken by the unerring talent of newscasters everywhere for imparting information by sounding simultaneously both salacious and serious;

'_...we can neither confirm or deny initial eyewitness accounts that when Superman arrived at the disaster area yesterday evening, he had _flour handprints_ on his face.'_

Lois's eyes closed as she physically restrained a cringe from breaking out over her entire body. She dared not look at Jimmy who despite his best efforts was blushing.

He and the rest of the office flinched when Perry suddenly barked out his name. The photographer looked up to his editor.

"Do I have a bowler hat on my head?"

Unbalanced by the delicacy of the situation, desperately wanting to give the correct answer, Jimmy's eyes moved to the dusting of white hair on Perry's head- just in case. He answered slowly, "No, Chief."

"Do I have a microphone in my hand?"

Again, he looked. "No, Chief."

"Then maybe it's possible I'm wearing some mascara? Fishnet pantyhose? Stiletto heels?"

Jimmy shook his head, no.

"Well, perhaps I'm the owner of a seedy nightclub in Weimar Germany?"

"Absolutely not, Chief."

"Then_ why the hell_ is my entire staff stood around waiting for the next act in the floor show?" Perry had not looked at Jimmy at any time whilst addressing him. Instead, as now, his eyes surveyed the room. "It's not party time yet, people. We've got a newspaper to run." His voice dropped. "Get on with it."

The office reanimated, but at a noticeably more subdued volume. Perry looked across to re-find Lois. The coat, purse, and umbrella were missing off her stand. She was gone.

* * *

The red and yellow colors of his S shield were still just about recognizable on the brown mis-shape of costume which lay where it had been peeled and kicked off in one corner of a bathroom fogged with steam. In the shower, underneath the spray, Clark was stood with his fingertips balancing him against the tiled wall. His head was bent to his chest as he relaxed into the sensation of hot water hitting the nape of his neck and running down over the muscles of his shoulders and back.

It had taken them most of the night, but he and Mathew had done it. They had traveled up the length of Sumatra, turning the power back on. Flying back the opposite way they watched as the curve of the island was described once more by a spider's web of electric light. Maybe it wasn't Metropolis at Christmas time but he agreed with Mathew; their efforts were pretty impressive. The Indonesian President thought so too and was also gracious enough to not immediately wipe the dirt transferred to his skin after they had shaken hands. Instead he had presented them both with a gift of thanks; a traditional Indonesian takraw ball. Holding the intricately woven ornament in his hands, for the first time all day Clark's mind allowed itself to drift back to thoughts of home and he'd realized he still had enough time to get back to another important ceremony. After returning Mathew to Perelajang, he had headed straight for his apartment. Right now he was taking puritanical delight in simply being clean again.

Finished in the shower, Clark checked the time and changed into a fresh suit and his tuxedo trousers and shirt. After hastily putting on his bow tie he grabbed his dinner jacket, slung it over the arm of his couch, called up the limo company, and then tried Lois again. As soon as he was home he'd dialed her cell, her apartment, and then work but couldn't get through. This time he tried her at home first. No answer. He looked at his wristwatch. It was just after seven. They were due at the champagne reception in fifteen minutes. Surely she wouldn't still be at the Planet? On the night of the Ball? He mulled it over; this was Lois, and it was not a possibility he could be so quick to discount out of hand. He pressed to disconnect and speed-dialed her desk-number. For a full minute he listened to the ringing tone. So she wasn't still at work. He disconnected again and thumbed the keypad for her cell. This time, before it could ring out once, Lois answered.

"Clark?"

After a hell of a day he found himself grinning in reflex at the sound of her voice.

"When did you get back?"

...And now frowning at the strength of accusation evident in its tone.

"Uh," Clark re-checked his watch, "about an hour ago?"

On the other end of the line there was a brief silence followed by an odd hissing noise- steady and low, like an air bed deflating. Clark thought it sounded very much like someone not investing much effort in masking a long sigh of withering and profound irritation. His brow lowered and he waited, but there was no further elaboration. "Is everything okay?"

There was another pause. He squinted to listen harder, sure that in the background he could hear the distinctive fabric-on-material rustling of clothes. Then, on an exhalation of effort, Lois said, "Can you open your apartment door, please?"

With the phone still at his ear Clark walked through the room, one-handedly knocked off the safety catch, and pulled the handle of his front door. Lois was stood in his hallway. At this precise moment she was twisted awkwardly and bent over away from him using the hand holding her cellphone to beat dust off the seat of her raincoat. Poking out from under the other arm was a large umbrella and her folded laptop, and she was also holding a thermal travel mug. The mug looked familiar and Clark found himself peering at it while Lois's muffled voice grouched, "You know what would really help me out?" She finished brushing the coat, fronted him up and pointed the phone in his face, "You-" she swung her arm in an expansive arc indicating the drafty hallway she had unnecessarily spent the last hour in, "entering premises the _customary_ way."

Clark grinned at her, useless at taking her seriously when she was being crotchety, but by way of apology he offered, "I got back and tried calling you a couple of times?"

"I-." Lois dipped her head. "I've been unavailable today. I just switched my phone back on." And with that she looked at it and turned it off again.

The grin softened around the edges. "Busy?"

She shrugged back, meeting his gaze. "Not as busy as you, I'd guess. I saw you on tv. Are you okay?"

Clark brushed it off. "As soon as the aid agencies arrive I'm surplus to requirements."

A laugh caught in her throat. "That'll be the day."

They smiled at each other until the silence became heavy. There seemed to be a mutual realizing of the difference in their appearances. Clark was freshly shaven and sharply dressed and save for the combing away of his spit curl and the addition of his glasses, he looked ready for an evening out. And Lois... did not. Still in her coat and work clothes, she looked creased, and crumpled, and actually kind of damp. Rather than dwell on what that might mean Clark leaned out to glance down the empty corridor.

"So how long have you been waiting out here?"

He watched her shift and gingerly crick her neck to one side. "Well. I think your next door neighbor may have mistaken me for some kind of bum because she offered me the name of a local walk-in center where they give out free soup." Between two fingers Lois held up a small note of paper and Clark recognized Mrs Ramirez's handwriting on it, "And then, later on, ...after a little while, she actually _made_ me some soup," Lois raised the stainless steel mug in her hand, "and I lost all feeling in my ass some time ago..." she nodded once in summing up; "So let's just say 'too long' and leave it at that."

There was another uncomfortable pause in which Lois was tortured by the smell of Clark's cologne, and Clark could feel his heart falling, "Um. Wasn't I was picking you up?" He watched her avoid eye-contact by looking at her hands. "Change of plan?"

Lois sighed quietly. He really did smell wonderful.

"We're running a little late now, but I called and delayed the car- it's no problem."

She blew out a little breath, mustering courage. "Clark."

"I mean I guess we could always forget the car, and fly?"

She closed her eyes, "Clark-"

"It's just, you know, it can get a little windy, and I know how you have to fix your hair a certain way and then when we get there, you have to _re-fix_ it a certain way..." She tried to find his eyes, but couldn't because now he was avoiding the contact. "But, I don't mind as long as you don't mind? I can land us somewhere out of sight. In fact, I'm pretty sure there's a side alley a couple of buildings on from the delivery entrance." He checked his watch, "We'll be there in no time-"

"_Clark_-" It came out alot testier than she meant it to, but at least it shut him up and made him look at her. She hesitated. "I'm not going to the Ball tonight."

He smiled with the grim acceptance of someone being told what they already knew. They held each other's gaze. Clark whispered, "Are you okay?"

Lois smiled back. "No."

A look of concern developed on his face. "What's going on? Are you sick? What's the matter?"

Another sigh escaped her. Her eyes were shining. "I have an ache."

She watched a brand new worry line form between his eyebrows. "Do you want me to get you something?" He thumbed back into the apartment apologetically, "I don't really keep medicine in the house, but I can go get you something?" He looked back at her so that she understood: "Anything."

Stirred into the comforting familiarity of action-mode he was already reaching back inside to swipe his wallet, glasses and keys off the sideboard without waiting for an answer either way. "It'll take me two minutes; what do you need? Advil? Tylenol?" Clark slipped on the glasses and tried to sound authoritative and as if everything he knew about what humans took to ease minor aches and pains wasn't garnered almost exclusively from Sunday magazine page advertisements for indigestion relief. What was the pink stuff called again? "Uuuh, Pepto-Bismol?" Instinctively he lowered the glasses and began x-raying her- Lois could see his eyes shucking side to side down her body like the laser on a scannerbed, "Where does it hurt?"

She was completely still, taking her time. Without moving her eyes from his face, with her index finger poking out of her sleeve, she pointed to her heart.

"Here."

Neither moved. Then Clark returned his keys and wallet. He raised both hands to remove his glasses. "Oh."

As he folded the frames in silence Lois took another deep breath and licked her lips. "We need to talk."

Clark couldn't help wincing at her words and she read his look. She hated giving in too. In sympathy she tilted her head, "Hey, you know?" she lifted a shoulder and smiled, "We did well to avoid that sentence for as long as we did. One of us was going to have to say it eventually."

He nodded and half-smiled back. "You better come in."

* * *

Warm evening sunshine cast long shadows on the sidewalk underneath the entrance awnings of the Ritz Plaza Hotel. From inside, Surrey With The Fringe On Top drifted lazily out onto the street. The morning rain was long gone, the sky was clear, and although Jimmy's scrupulously combed side-parting was waxed solidly and assuredly into place, the rather more flamboyant ruffles on the front of his shirt stirred freely on a pleasant breeze.

Standing upwind from the start-of-the-party smokers, he removed his left hand from his trouser pocket and pulled on his cuff to check the time. He felt uneasy, which was stupid; guests were still arriving, and dinner wasn't served for another hour. But no one had heard from Lois since this afternoon's ...incident. And it was so unlike either of them not to be on time.

He watched a car pull up, and then another, and another, and in between glances up and down the street he waved and smiled as friends and familiar faces unloaded and made their way into the building. Men helped ladies totter unsteadily out of taxi cabs and hire cars. There was not a raincoat or pair of rubber boots in sight.

Another car pulled up, a sleek black Sedan. This time the man helping the lady out of the vehicle was the driver, and the lady in question was Mrs Marylin De Vries Cartwright- the banking heiress who wrote a monthly desserts column. She was about seventy years old and she gave Jimmy a cheeky wink as she swished past. This was the real fun of the Ball; seeing people relaxed and having a good time- seeing their other side. For everybody who was not a millionairess in their spare time, this meant witnessing their transformation for one night only into ladies and gentlemen of exquisite taste and high-refinement. A yellow cab rolled up and Stu and Hairy Steve stepped out. Well, mostly everybody anyway.

Proud of his own annual standards, Jimmy picked a piece of lint from the shoulder of his suit, catching a glimpse of himself in the window behind as he did so. He smiled at the reflection; lookin' gooood. Although... the cummerbund did feel a bit tight this year. He patted his stomach; better go easy on the hors d'oeuvres tonight. He checked his watch again and then sighed. He was being stupid. There was still plenty of time. Inside, the guy on the piano was playing an up tempo version of something Jimmy recognized as a U2 cover. His toe started to tap in impatient rhythm with the music.

* * *

Clark held the door open as Lois came past carrying her bits and pieces in her arms. "Here, do you need any help?"

"I've got it, thanks."

He closed the door gently behind them as she set everything she was holding down on his kitchen table and shrugged off her purse. On his draining board she noticed an upturned mug printed with the words; 'Ceci n'est pas une pipe'. She had bought it in the Louvre. She smiled then remembered the soup mug.

"Oh, except...?" Lois picked up the mug and performed a shilly-shallying two-step back towards Clark- not sure whether to leave it outside the neighbor's door.

"Oh, here." Clark offered his hands and took it off her. "I'll drop it by later."

"Are you sure? It was really very sweet of her." Lois chewed her lip and hitched her thumb. "Maybe I should go return it first?"

Clark chuckled in recognition of the thermos cup. He thought it looked familiar. He twisted it in his hands, "Ah, s'okay. You just have."

To her frown he lifted the mug. "You already returned it."

"Yours?"

He was nodding. "I lent it to Mrs Ramirez. Months ago, actually." He frowned himself. "It's funny, she was pretty adamant she returned it."

"And, you're certain- it's yours."

"Yeah, see?" Clark held it out for her. With his thumbnail he pointed to where a team badge had rubbed away but the words 'Smallv Cro ' were still just about legible. His smile was crooked. "A leaving present from my mom."

Lois leaned away again. "I believe you- it's just," Mrs Ramirez hadn't seemed like the kind of lady you wanted to mess with, "your neighbor seemed pretty adamant that she wanted it back."

"No, it's mine, I swear." He turned it over carefully in his hands.

Lois moved further into the apartment. It was furnished simply and there was no television- but she had always liked coming here. Pictures of home, of Smallville, of them, lined his mantelpiece. Next to the fireplace was a reading chair and floor lamp. In the middle of the room there was a coffee table on which a copy of A Tale of Two Cities had been left open. One side of the room was entirely book shelves and then back against the opposite wall was his small beat-up couch which was far too short for him to lay down on but perfect for her, and on which she had once vomited margaritas. With a jolt Lois realized this was the first time she had been here in months- the first time since she had known.

She looked around. Things she had never paid much attention to before made so much more sense. The huge antique map of the world hanging above the fireplace. The telescope at his window. The bookshelf dotted with exotic curiosities from around the four corners of the earth; cuneiform tablets and tribal face masks, and a strange ceramic statuette of a squatting little fat guy with tiny ears that she actually did know about because it reminded her of her dad's cousin, Earl, and she'd asked Clark about it and he'd told her it was Mayan and over a thousand years old, and that it had been given to him after he had rescued an Amazonian Princess. Believing it was intended as a joke, she'd laughed at this politely: the idea of Clark's pre-Planet days as a globetrotting adventurer was so hard to square with the office nerd who had trouble avoiding serious injury using chopsticks. She realized now that like everything else so fantastical about his real life- the story was probably true.

Her eyes moved from the shelves to the photographs on the mantelpiece. Nothing had changed since she was last here- but really, everything had; this was where Superman lived. This was his home, this is where he returned at night. In popular culture, it was a running joke- like crop circles, or whether the real Michael Jackson had died years ago and was now just a robot. Where does Superman live? Theories abounded. Maybe it was in a mansion, maybe a lair? The imagination ran riot. Not so long ago Lois had wondered herself. She remembered one of the very early interviews in which she had mooted what she regarded as was one of the more plausible suggestions- that he might keep some kind of base on the moon? He'd laughed particularly hard at that one, and she had been glad that she'd kept her own pet theory that he slept in the clouds on the QT.

There were some people who believed that he didn't have a home at all- that he was what they saw; some kind of hyper-evolved archetype of the do-gooding drifter, transient and not belonging to any place. Maybe that was why people had a hard time accepting he was a man with limitations, just like everyone else. She turned away, back to Clark.

He was still occupied with the mug in his hands. "I wondered where it got to." He glanced up. Lois's expression faded his smile. Stood in the middle of the room with nothing to lean or rest on, she appeared at a loss as to what to do with her arms or legs. He set the mug to one side. "Do you want to ...sit down, or take off your-"

She suddenly spoke over him in a rush of breath; "So I've been doing a lot of thinking."

Again, Clark flinched. "Boy. Two-for-two." He scrunched his face at the evening's second invocation of classic break-up terminology, "I'm not going to like this conversation," he lifted one dark eyebrow, "am I?"

Lois stilled, deciding. She admitted, "Probably not, no."

Placing his hands on his hips he braced himself. She fiddled with her hands, working up to it, "I can't do it anymore. I can't." She lifted her head to him, looking serious and sad and relieved, all at once.

He was nodding in thought. Although, admittedly, something of a long shot, just in case she was talking about her failure to keep up with a new hi-protein diet, or January's resolution to read a chapter of War and Peace every night, or maybe something else he was completely unaware of, he risked; "It?"

Lois sighed at him. But it was not that he wanted to be difficult or intentionally obtuse, just that his instinct was to resist this moment. Equally, Lois was not in the mood to play games. If he needed her to spell it out, that's what she would do. It was time to suck it up.

"It. Us. This. This right here. This." She mimed the space between them. "What we're doing right now."

"We're not doing anything..."

Her eyes closed and she chuckled softly and humorlessly, "Exactly... exactly..." When she opened them again, Clark could see the strain of her words in her face, "- and I can't do it anymore."

"Look," he took a step towards her, "if this is because of what happened last night..."

Lois slapped her arms against herself in a little flap of annoyed protest. "It's not because of last night."

She was rewarded with a look that was so far from convinced, she might as well have just told him she was seriously thinking of packing everything into the back of a rainbow-painted campervan and changing her name to 'Moonbeam.'

"It's..." She hesitated under his scrutiny and her eyelashes fluttered. "Well ...maybe it's a little bit because of last night. But, see, the thing is-"

"Because, what happened;" Clark shook his head without taking his eyes off her, "it's not our fault."

Lois stamped a foot. "That's why you think I'm here?"

"Isn't it?"

"No!"

He raised his eyebrows, forcing her to concede, "...Yes."

She huffed, "It's 'no' and 'yes'" before making an unintelligible growling noise at how she sounded; "It's all mixed in."

Clark stepped towards her again, gesturing with his hand, "Lois. Things are going on. All over the world. All the time. And it's not our fault- it's not anybody's fault. What happened in Indonesia-"

She raised a palm to stop him right there, exhaled deeply and matched his tone, "No, I know." Her hand waved in the air. "I'm not interested in debating the finer points of your commitment to mankind, or the root and branch moral maze of decisions and choices that that commitment involves. At the end of the day, they would give Mother _freakin'_ Theresa a guilt complex,"

Clark opened his mouth to comment on the indelicate comparison but had to close it again.

"and I've certainly not come to cry about lying awake last night thinking about people dying in Indonesia- even though, quite honestly?" Lois's head bobbed along to the words as her voice went up an octave, "I DID lie awake last night thinking about people dying in Indonesia. And," her pitch returned to normal as she absently gazed at the back of her hands and admitted to her fingers, "it's probably going to be a while before I can disassociate the act of scrubbing my nails clean of pastry dough from its sense-memory as a cleansing ritual of the soul."

They both smiled shyly until she found his eyes again. "But we're back exactly where we started after the Fortress; and that is our fault." She corrected herself deliberately, "My fault."

"Lois-"

"No, Clark- please. I have to say this."

She lifted her arms wide, "This is the reality of being with you. This is it. Filling in the gaps between each new emergency." She watched him shift uneasily. "And I get that. I do. That's the part I can handle." A half-smile appeared on her lips; "I think." She paused. "It's the other part I'm having trouble with."

"Other part?"

Lois nodded and sighed. "Last night. Last night..."

She looked out into the room in search of the words to explain it. "I feel like I'm having an affair with you. That we're going behind the backs of everyone we know; our work colleagues. Our friends... and I hate it, not because you're picking the world over me but because it feels like it's dirty, and wrong, and that what we have is wrong, and that it's something to be ashamed of, to be hidden away, and glossed over, and never talked about, when the truth is;" she caught her breath again, "you're the greatest thing that's ever happened to me and all I want to do is shout it from the rooftops- 'I love Clark Kent. I _love_ him. And he loves me.'"

"Oh, Lois..."

"That's the part I'm struggling with. Where I feel like the forbidden fruit, and we can't even touch each other..."

"That's not true..."

"I thought I could go on living like that, I mean; _find a way_ to live like that. As just this one, small, secret part of your life..." She shook her head, "but I can't. It's not enough."

Clark's head bowed.

"We're back exactly where we started. The only difference is that this conversation's about ten times harder now because the relationship between time and my feelings for you seems to be unhelpfully exponential."

He looked back up to find her doing her best to smile. He could feel a sense of dread building and tried to fight it, "Maybe we can do things differently? Maybe we can work out ...an arrangement-"

'Arrangement'. If it was possible the word sounded even more sordid when said out loud.

"Like what, Clark?" She sighed. "I told you, I don't think I can go back to how it was. But it's not enough if it's just delaying the inevitable; filling in the gap until the next time we get too close, and then-"

"Okay, well." Lois recognized the quick nods to himself as Clark thinking on his feet; "We'll cool off on the not dates, I'll cancel the July Fourth thing..."

It wasn't enough. In her mind, door number one and door number two appeared like the choices in a gameshow. Clark was floundering.

"I don't know? There has to be some way..."

Lois took a deep breath and chose door number one.

"Marry me."

She said it so simply, so straightforwardly, so like she had just asked him to pass over the salt, that Clark thought he better check he had just heard what he thought he just heard. "_What_?"

Slowly, she came up to him, took his hands in hers, gazed into his eyes. Edging closer she pressed her fingers against his. With utter seriousness, willing him to say yes, she repeated, "Marry me."

"Lois..." He looked at their hands, intertwined together, "I... _I can't_."

She didn't immediately let him go. When she did drop his hands, she moved back, steady. Her heartbeat was steady. Clark told himself she had been expecting that reply, but he had watched something go out in her eyes. Now her eyes were searching his face. She gave a small wry smile.

"Then what the hell are we doing?"

* * *

In one corner of the cocktail lounge the guy on the piano had moved back to show tunes. The lounge was now full of guests, and waiters circulated with trays of drinks and platters of smoked salmon, occasionally having to lift them high to avoid obstruction in an expertly choreographed display of balance. Jimmy and Richard stood near the entrance doors not drinking their champagne.

"They're late."

By this Jimmy was not merely stating the obvious. His words were a private code that represented a much bigger idea; that something was seriously wrong. Lois should be here by now, swishing around the room looking stunning and high class, and then bumping into him and fussing over his outfit- ragging him about which one he came with this year; Starsky or Hutch, and all the while pretending to not want to go and spend the evening hanging out with Clark.

"Try her on her cell again."

"She's not answering."

"Well, what about him?"

"He's not answering her cell either."

Richard detected a note of disdain at his apparently unhelpful suggestion. He looked at Jimmy. "I meant, have you tried calling HIS cell instead?"

"Oh," Jimmy made a face like that idea was even more ridiculous, "no; Clark doesn't have one."

Richard was exasperated. "Well, hell, Jimmy. Forget Lois- how do we know if Kent's even back from DC yet?"

The two men spent some time rearranging their cuffs before Richard spoke back up. "Do you think she's okay?"

Richard was referring to earlier, but Jimmy had been thinking about her apartment last night. In her kitchen. She definitely hadn't seemed herself. But somehow that information felt important to keep safe. "What do you mean?"

"Have you ever seen her like that before?"

"Like what?"

"Like today?"

"Letting someone have it? Both barrels? The old face-melter?" Jimmy rolled his shoulders, "Only about four or five hundred times since I've been at the Planet." He quirked his head, "Granted, it's usually Clark in the firing line..."

Him again. Richard's thoughts darkened. "To just blow up like that, though."

"The nickname's not for fun, you know."

"She didn't seem herself, that's all."

"You really don't know Lois."

Richard remained unconvinced but he did not want to belabor the point. He understood that in the Venn diagram of inter-office relationships, Jimmy's history as her friend trumped his own misgivings. "It's just me, then. She just seemed a little ...off, today. That's all."

Jimmy stayed quiet.

From where he had left his wife chatting enthusiastically with the Planet's alternative medicine expert, Perry arrived to touch Jimmy on the elbow. "Any sign?"

Jimmy shook his head, Perry nodded. "It's probably nothing; traffic."

"Or someone called in a lead?"

Perry smiled at the suggestion, "I can seem them now; hunched in the corner of some slummy bar room, trussed up to the nines, trying to look inconspicuous."

In confirmation that neither quite believed themselves, Jimmy shrugged, "...I'll just try Clark at home" as Perry agreed, "I'll delay their award until last." He thumbed backwards, "I've got to go. Talk Alice out of signing me up for some mumbo-jumbo Chinese chanting class."

"I think it's a poetry course, actually."

"You too, huh?"

Richard rocked on his heels, "She did quote me some statistics about holistic solutions to managing stress levels over a smoked salmon tartlet before I escaped, yes."

Before leaving, Perry looked at Jimmy. "They're late."

* * *

Lois fiddled with her coat sleeves. Door number two loomed large in her imagination.

"I think you were right about staying away from each other all along. I was just too stubborn to admit it."

Clark had found an interesting spot on the floor. "What are we going to do?"

Before she could answer, his phone rang. She closed her eyes and rolled her head to the ceiling, wondering at their chances of ever holding an uninterrupted conversation.

Clark stepped over to his phone set and with one quick tug unplugged the wire. Lois breathed deeply, taking her time in the restored quiet. "I think you have to stop sending me letters."

Clark was accustomed to her habit of moving from one idea to the next like a child skipping over stepping stones- sometimes with no obvious connecting logic between one stone and the next and, quite frequently, missing out the stones altogether. But he was still reeling- wrong-footed by this ludicrous bizarro-reality he currently found himself in which he'd just been proposed to _by Lois_ and _turned her down_- "I'm sorry?"

"You have to stop sending me letters."

"Letters?" He shrugged. "I don't get it."

"Have you ever read much Kafka?"

Still playing mental catch up and struggling to follow this non-sequiturial line of conversation, but without stopping to think about it, Clark quoted; "'As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect.'''

The reflex mechanism for nerdish factoiding was so typical of him, it made Lois smile. "A simple 'Yes' would've sufficed."

A matching smile tugged at his lips. "Second year essay; famous opening lines in English Literature. It's the first thing that pops into my head whenever anyone mentions Kafka."

She opened her mouth to continue, but Clark cut in- "Well, that and the fact he's one of those people whose surname gets turned into an adjective,"

She frowned.

"Like, something can be Narcissistic, or Orwellian, or Marxist, or, -"

Her look stopped him. He paused. "I'm familiar with some of Kafka's work." A sheepish smile; "Yes."

"Have you ever read The Judgment?"

"Yes."

"Do you know who he dedicated the story to?"

"No."

"A lady called Felice Bauer. She was his girlfriend. At that time. They met at a dinner party in Berlin. And when he went back to Prague he wrote it in a single sitting and dedicated it to her."

Clark was still not really following. "O-_kaay_..."

"They ended up conducting an affair by letter. Kafka would write to her all the time, every day, sometimes even more often. But he had trouble dealing with the distance between them. One day he sent her a letter, asking that she stop writing back so frequently, to restrict herself to only one letter a week."

"Okay..."

"He explained that answering her letters was too much of an ordeal to take on a daily basis. He wrote that he was incapable of enduring them. He wrote;"

Clark looked down as her voice started to break.

"'I cannot deal with life'." Lois stopped to compose herself and then re-found his eyes. "Being together, but not being together. Seeing you everyday, and wanting you everyday, and not having you," she smiled, "everyday- it's hard to deal with life."

Clark came forward and then checked himself. "Lois-"

"You have to stop sending me letters."

He whispered "What do you want me to do?"

She rolled her lips. "I think. We just... maybe... I think we just need to take time away. From each other." One shoulder lifted. "Get some breathing space."

He looked back at her, unhappy but knowing in his heart that she was probably right.

"I think we need to make things easier for ourselves." Lois steeled herself. Door number two had opened wide and she had resolved to walk through it. "And I think the best way to do that is if we back off a little bit."

He was nodding. His hands reached for his collar and he started to undo his bow tie. "Tonight was a stupid idea, anyway." He gave a little shake of the head as he pulled the tie off and undid his top button. "I don't know what I was thinking."

"And, I..." She bit her lip. "I think maybe... we should stop... working together." Her breath hitched and she watched for his reaction.

He was staring at his hands, at the bow tie. "I should've asked Perry to re-assign us in the first place." He put the tie in his pocket and seemed to talk to himself. "I should've just given you that geranium and walked away." After a couple of seconds of silence his head popped back up signalling a return of his full attention to her. "I think there's a sub-editorial position opening up in Features. It's not the cut and thrust of the newsroom but you get your own office-" Clark smiled; "I always thought that could come in handy," there was a beat, "but I'll toss you for it."

He saw that she was not smiling back as she was meant to. "Paper rock scissors?"

Lois was aware that this was delicate. "I'm not talking about working on different floors, Clark. I'm talking about working in different buildings."

"What?"

She swallowed. "I'm going to see Perry first thing Monday. I'm going to hand in my notice."

Clark blinked few times at this admission which was surely a joke. Seeing that it was not, his face dropped. "Are you serious?"

She nodded that she was.

"Wait. Just, hold on... You're quitting the Planet?"

She nodded again.

His lips moved in silent protest before words came out. "But, but..._You can't_."

"I can't?"

"_No_."

"Why not?"

Why not? _Why not_? There were a very many good reasons why not! "Because!" The first and most compelling reason out of his mouth was not necessarily the most eloquent; "You can't. You just can't."

Her head tilted and he grasped for "You're Lois Lane" as if any other explanation were necessary.

"I'll still be Lois Lane," she pointed out reasonably. "I'm not going to stop being Lois Lane because I leave a newspaper."

"Lois Lane and the Daily Planet; you can't have one without the other- it's an institution- it's ingrained in the culture. It's like," Clark accentuated each word like he was holding them up on picture cards; "...Ben and Jerry, Bert and Ernie... Macaroni and Cheese, Bacon and Eggs..."

In response Lois quickly dashed off her own Perryisms; "Franks and Beans, Death and Taxes? Hey, sometimes, things move on," she shrugged helplessly, "because they have to?"

"Not these things. These things don't 'move on'; they stay together. You don't have bacon and ...and ...celery."

Lois frowned. Celery? "Celery? Clark, I-"

Before she could finish he interrupted her, and for the next few moments their sentences ran over each other as they reasoned loudly, and nonsensically, with themselves,

"-Exactly! Celery. 'Bacon and celery'; it's just wrong."

"Bacon _and Celery_?"

"Celery belongs with dip; bacon belongs with eggs. Eggs don't suddenly decide they've had enough of cured pork and move on..."

"-Well, first of all, it's not that I've had enough of anyone, it's quite the opposite, in fact,"

"-and, anyway, what would they move on to?"

"and we'll just forget for a moment that eggs and celery are food, and might find it quite difficult to move on, what with being, you know, food, and inanimate-"

"I mean sure, there's alot of egg-combination meals out there- but if we're talking about a classic pairing?"

"let alone possessing sentient thought..."

"They know that their rightful place is there, on the plate, right next to-"

"_Clark_."

She held him with her gaze. "I know what I'm saying seems a little... drastic, but I've been doing alot of thinking today. And last night. And out there in your hall. Trying to come up with a better solution." Her face softened, "And I couldn't."

He looked broken. "It just seems _wrong_."

She nodded, her eyes asking him to please understand, "All I'm talking about is space- getting some distance, because, Clark, I need it."

For a moment they stood like that, trying to find answers in the other's face that neither yet possessed, until Clark broke it by looking at the ceiling. He moved his hands to his hips. "Well. If anyone's leaving the Planet, it should be me." He looked back at her, his jaw muscles working defiantly. "I should be the one to go."

Her head shook in disagreement with his flawed logic. "It's my decision."

"That you're being forced into just because of me."

"Who says it's 'just' because of you?"

This prompted a hard-fought and tightly-contested round of extravagantly-exchanged 'liar liar pants on fire' faces. But Lois was nothing if not iron-willed,

"Maybe it's not _just_ because of you? Maybe there's other reasons? Maybe ...Maybe I've been headhunted and I'm getting a payrise? Maybe someone's finally recognized who's the real talent behind this outfit?"

That won her a slow smile.

"Yeah, maybe, I'm leaving for somewhere with better dental, and a... a... gym! And maybe I'm getting a much bigger office than you could ever hope to have- even bigger than the one in Features?"

Now they were both smiling at each other. Clark felt a familiar ache. She was so beautiful.

"I am an award-winning journalist, you know." Her eyes closed and he watched her forehead crinkle, "Oh, damn."

He breathed, "What?"

"The Perrys." She put her hand to the top of her head and checked her watch.

The Perrys. They had seemed so much more important a day ago. An hour ago. He shook his head, "Forget about it, we don't have to go. Everyone's always too drunk after dinner anyway- no one'll notice we're not there."

"Oh yes they will. Perry let slip about who won Best Story." She walked past him to her purse on the table. "He knows I know."

Clark watched her. "He told you who won?"

Lois grinned, "Yeah. After all that crap he gave Jimmy about not blabbing." She zipped the bag open and sifted around for something. "I should be there to collect it."

Clark felt his heart swell with genuine pride, "You won Best Story? Congratulations."

She stopped what she was doing to look up, and shake her head. "We won. We both won- together. Perry decided to give us a joint award." Her voice deepened, "Not a bad way to sign off, huh?"

With a quick breath Lois pulled it together and regarded herself with a critical eye. "I wonder if they'll let me in like this?"

Clark dipped his head. "No-"

Lois chewed her lip thoughtfully as she pressed her hands over the creases in her skirt. "You're right- I look like that bag lady that feeds the pigeons on the corner of Sixth and Wilmington... I suppose as long as I've got an official invitation..." She finished with checking her purse. "Shoot. Can I take yours?"

"No, I mean; no. I'll go-"

She waved the offer away. "It's okay. I can talk my way in anywhere. There'll probably be someone on the door with a guestlist, right?"

"Lois- you don't have to. I'll go, I'll collect the award." They looked at each other steadily. "You don't have to come."

"Are you sure?"

"I may as well." He reached for the tuxedo jacket on the couch, fished around the inside pocket and held up a check. "I've got to go anonymously benefact ten thousand dollars. Besides," he smiled, "It's my best dinner jacket. I had it pressed and everything."

Lois couldn't resist. "Your only dinner jacket."

He couldn't resist back. "I have two, actually."

The smiles that came so easily faded away again. Lois's eyebrows lifted. "You look..." She swallowed the words 'very handsome' away. "Except. Here."

She swayed a little and then without taking her eyes from his, she walked over to stand squarely in front of him again. This time she didn't take his hands, and for a long moment they were completely still. Long enough for him to register that they were close enough to kiss. He felt her fingers touch the inside hem of his trouser pocket, and for an insane second the thought rushed through his mind that this might be the prelude to one last no-holds-barred night of wild passion. Instead she pulled out the bow tie.

He suppressed a blush. "oh."

She turned his collar back up, re-did the top button, and he watched her face as she watched her hands, her forehead crinkling in concentration as she expertly knotted the bow tie and straightened everything up. She felt his chest react with a little hitch of breath when she smoothed her hands down the front of his shirt. It was a stupid and risky thing to do- she knew- but she did it anyway. She had so wanted tonight of all nights. The heat lingered as a familiar tightening of attraction pulsed between them.

But this was her choice and she refused to go back on it now or feel sorry for herself. She pulled back to a safer distance to admire her handiwork. "That's better." She smiled and then affected an English accent; "A proper man, as one shall see in a Summer's Ball."

He stuck his hands in his pockets, grinning crookedly at her. "Misquoting Shakespeare?"

Lois looked at the floor. "It's nothing. Just something Perry was talking about earlier." When she looked back up her eyes were shining. "It's Midsummer's Eve tonight, apparently."

Clark nodded and then his expression turned into a frown. "I thought Midsummer is on the twenty-fourth?"

She grinned at their mutual pedantry; "It is. But the actual Solstice is definitely tomorrow- you know, Midsummer Madness and whatnot." Her fingers waggled in the air, "Perry and his whole ...spiel..."

"Midsummer?" Clark said softly. "Some Night's Dream, huh?"

Lois nodded, tears welling again ...Oh, this was no good. She broke off, this time for real. "I'm making you late. I should go."

She turned away to collect her things off the table and used the opportunity to quickly wipe at her eyes. He watched her. This felt like a mistake. A big, messy, mistake. Instinct told him to just stop her, to keep her here, to not let her go. He wished that he was weaker. "Can I take you home?"

She was striding to the door, "Nah, I'll be fine. I'll enjoy the walk. I've got my umbrella."

"It's not actually raining out there- it's a beautiful evening."

Lois looked at the umbrella in her hand. "Oh."

He watched her put it under her arm again. In fact, there hadn't been a cloud in the sky when he arrived back in the city. "How long were you sat outside my apartment?"

"Oh, I don't know? Not that long." She shrugged off the dubious raising of an eyebrow. "It's fine. Mrs Ramirez kept me company for a little while." She swivelled on her feet to gesture with her laptop, "And I got a new P.B. on Minesweeper."

"Mrs Ramirez kept you company?"

Lois nodded.

"Mrs Ramirez?"

"We chatted."

Clark looked put out. "She never chats to me."

"Yeah, she thinks you're odd," Lois said lightly and a little too readily, then grinned, "she never hears you come home at night."

Clark's hands went to his hips. "She thinks _I'm_ odd? When _she's_ the mug-stealer."

"Oh, you'll have to explain about that. I swear she told me it's her husband's."

"I swear she told me she gave it me back."

Lois opened the door and stood in the threshold. "I hope you have a good time, tonight."

Clark gave her a rueful smile that was meant to convey 'Right, like that's going to happen.' She turned to go and he watched her walk away feeling like today made no sense and that perhaps Perry and Shakespeare had it right. One line in particular floated up- Puck's quote about Reason and love keeping little company together.

"Lois."

At one end of the corridor, she turned back.

Clark dipped his head. "So... did she stop?"

Lois looked confused. "Who stop what?"

"Kafka's fiancé. Did she stop sending him letters?"

"Oh. Yeah."

"And it all worked out, then? Between them, I mean?"

"Well. It was complicated." Lois chose her words. "They were kind of on-again off-again for a few years. He kept breaking things off."

"And then what happened?"

Barely perceptively, hardly noticeably at all, he heard her voice thicken. "She married someone else."

* * *

"Another big hand for Stuart and Steven, everybody. Like the Max Schreck and Lon Chaney of the tech department. Well done, fellas. Proving year on year that the true heroes of any successful paper franchise are two guys who know how to fix my fax machine when it starts making that strange buzzing noise."

Clutching a thick-cut plinth of glass with the Planet's logo etched across it, Stu and Hairy Steve, and their Perry- were accompanied back to their seats with a standing ovation from the techies table. Their editor raised his hands to them again, "Well done."

On stage in the bedecked surroundings of the Franklin Dining room- an impressive space hired out for Benefit Galas, Industry banquets, Ambassadorial receptions and, tonight, the Daily Planet's Annual Charity Ball- Perry was stood, holding court. He looked out over the gathering. As usual, he found it a hugely beguiling sight. Streamers and ticker tape crisscrossed the ceiling where giant round balloons competed with crystal chandeliers for space. Table lamps bounced light off the wine glasses and jewellery, dessert forks and coffee spoons, of people having fun.

Before the dancing started and the night really began, there was just one thing left to do. Stu and Steve had resettled and Perry waited for the room to quieten.

Next door, Clark was sat at the bar in the cocktail lounge. For some time now he had been staring at the whiskey glass in front of him. The silence of the room was punctuated only by the squeak of a coiled dish cloth as the bartender stood wiping a glass.

"You know, I hear it works better if you drink it."

Clark lifted his eyes from the whiskey and fixed the barman with a look that was just this side of a glare. "Can you bring me the bottle, please?"

The bartender raised his eyebrows. Glasses didn't look much like a booze hound, but then the serious drinkers never do- it was almost always the quiet ones that surprised you. "Want me to line 'em up?"

Glasses said, "Just the bottle, please."

Swishing the white cloth over his shoulder, the bartender silently turned to do as he was asked, leaving Clark alone. Having timed his arrival to coincide with the main course, Clark had managed to avoid seeing anyone, neatly side-stepping the need for awkward explanation. Instead he had listened to the events in the dining room unfold from here, noting how the whooping and cheering of his colleagues got louder and more enthusiastic as the night wore on. It was an interesting behavioral pattern. Likely alcohol related. His own drink had remained untouched throughout.

Just to his right a large round helium-filled facsimile of the Daily Planet Globe suddenly dislodged itself from its ashtray moorings and drifted helplessly across his line of vision. Clark lowered the rim of his glasses.

A loud pop startled the bartender as he came round from the back. It sounded like Glasses might've dropped his drink on the floor. When he looked, all was as he had left it, except there were several shrivelled pieces of balloon latex on the countertop. He glanced at Glasses.

"It popped."

The barman set down a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red Label. "Aren't you supposed to be next door?"

Glasses stilled, and appeared to be listening- the bartender listened too, but could hear nothing.

In the dining room, Perry was addressing the crowd. "I can see Marylin's itching to hotfoot it out in the garden, so I'm sure you'll all be glad to hear it's time for the final award of the night."

Marylin was asleep in her chair and there was a good-natured smattering of laughter. Perry out-waited it before spreading his fingers wide on the rostrum before him.

"It's been quite a year at the Daily Planet." He subconsciously rubbed his palm flat over the top of his head and allowed a small smile to develop, "Even if I don't remember all of it."

It was a joke, and it was received as a joke, but in the aftermath, for the first time that night, everyone was serious.

"And amidst all that chaos, and excitement, and headline-chasing, there are two outstanding candidates, two reporters who deserve to be recognized for their work over these last twelve months." Perry shifted on his feet. "One is softly spoken, polite to a fault, thoughtful and measured, and quite possibly the nicest human being you'll ever have the good fortune to meet..." He paused for effect, "And then there's Clark." To the kneejerk outburst of laughter, Perry waved his hands- just kidding, just kidding- letting it blow itself out.

"It's a double-act of contrasts, but somehow it works." Perry looked down at the floor and then up again. "I've been in this business a long time. The Planet's lucky to have them. Best Story? _They're_ the Best Story; they're not here tonight but Ladies and Gentlemen, in tribute to their professionalism, teamwork, and talent, this year's award goes to..."

Back in the cocktail lounge Clark hopped off his stool: "Just waiting for my cue."

The barman lifted the bottle. "Hey, what about this?"

Clark was making his way to the adjoining doors. "I'm coming back."

On the other side of the doors, at the back of the hall, amongst a set of waist-high speakers, Jimmy was taking time out from packing away earphones to listen to Perry. Suddenly one door slipped open and Clark walked straight past. "Hey Clark! You made it! Where's...?"

"...Lois!" Perry hesitated mischievously, "AND Clark!"

The reaction from the crowd was an even mixture of groans and cheers from the newsroom bet-takers as disappointment at losing out on the office pool was immediately salved by the schadenfreude that no-one else had won either, augmented by straightforward cheers from everyone else. As he clapped along Louie allowed himself a small smile. Perry was leading the applause when he noticed movement towards him down the center aisle. Clapping continued as the audience watched the stage spotlight move from Perry- and settle on the unheralded figure of Clark Kent. Bemusement at his sudden appearance quickly evolved into the morbid curiosity of witnessing the discomfort of someone so far removed from their natural habitat. In the glare, Clark shuffled along the stage, shook Perry's hand, and accepted the award- lifting it to the audience in an acknowledgment that was more nervous tic than victorious gesture.

As the applause died down it was replaced by cries for "Speech!" Clark waved away the requests but that only seemed to increase their frequency and volume. He had been hoping to avoid this; the need to bask in the glory of his partnership with Lois when actually he felt like delivering a eulogy for it. He looked out over hundreds of expectant faces. Bending gingerly to the microphone, a high-pitched squeal of feedback obscured his words- the audience able to just catch the "-LO" of 'Hello'. Clark adjusted the microphone and tried again; "Uh, hello?" He touched the edge of his glasses frame with his thumb and forefinger; "Hi." Clearing his throat, he lifted the square of glass in his hands, "As you can probably tell by the fact that I've not had this wrestled out of my hands or been shoved off stage yet- Lois couldn't be here tonight;" There was laughter, but it was self-conscious, the newsroom staff collectively remembering earlier, "she's, uh, not feeling too well."

At his table Richard looked unimpressed.

Clark touched his glasses again. "You know, I was just thinking back to the first time Lois and I ever won anything together. It was a few years ago now... Some of you may remember... the uh, ReadyShake incident?"

Not everyone remembered but those who did and knew what was coming started to chuckle.

"As part of a government promotion to encourage kids to eat healthily, Superman was involved in a competition sponsored by ReadyShake. The whole idea was that if your bottle of ReadyShake was packaged with the winning label, you won the chance of a flying trip with Superman; that was the first prize." Clark nodded along at the memory.

"Anyway, Lois persuaded me to pool our resources and buy up as many crates of the stuff as possible. And I mean _crates_;" his mind's eye conjured the image for him, "she really wanted to win that trip." He changed his tone for effect; "For journalistic purposes, of course..."

He allowed time for another twinkling of laughter to subside; "Of course, the promotion was actually aimed at children but Lois was convinced that if we out-bought the under-tens, we could gain an important statistical advantage." In the wings, Perry was smiling.

"And you know what? She was right. And we won..." Clark hesitated for emphasis before twitching his head, "not the first prize, unfortunately, but the mystery second prize; a year's supply of ReadyShake." He shook his head as the audience shared his pain in amusement; "I, uh, still find little plastic bottles of goop hiding at the back of my refrigerator now." His voice softened. "It all wouldn't have been so bad, but they only come in Banana and Chocolate and my favorite flavor's actually Strawberry..."

This time Clark had to wait a few seconds for the crowd to settle down again. He sighed, "But that's the thing about Lois. When she wants something, she finds a way; no matter what the cost, or the sacrifice, or how many non-fat milk-alternative drinks it's going to take to get it." He stilled and his voice changed, "I don't think she's ever come across an insurmountable obstacle she didn't like, and she doesn't know the meaning of the word 'impossible.'"

Clark fought off a swell of emotion that threatened to give him away. "I guess, sometimes in life, you meet people..."

The audience listened as Clark trailed off, not quite able to follow through with that thought. "I guess, sometimes, you just get lucky." He paused and seemed to refocus. "I've never seen her back away from anything. The day she does, we're all in trouble."

His words resonated around the room, prefacing a silence in which he just stood at the rostrum. It was long enough and quiet enough for people to resist the urge to cough or fidget or otherwise be the one to disturb it. "Anyway, I know how much this night means to her- how much she wanted to be here. I'm here accepting the award on behalf of us both," he raised the Perry to them, "but this is dedicated to her. Thankyou."

As he turned his back on them the crowd responded with the loudest applause of the night, but the mood of the room had been altered by Clark, and the acclaim was a respectful acknowledgment, and not the convivial tubthumping in common with the rest of the evening. Richard clapped dutifully along with his table, but his eyes followed Clark's escape down one edge of the room. From the stage wings Jimmy and Perry were also watching.

"Do you think someone should go after him?"

Perry lifted his hand. "Leave him be, Jimmy." He looked around, like something was in the air around them. "Tonight, just leave him be."

* * *

The apartment was silent. Lois was ready for bed. She was sat at her breakfast bar, swinging her feet, kicking her slippers against the stool. In front of her was her laptop and a half-drunk, and now cold, cup of tea. She was considering the words on her screen.

_Dear Perry,_

_It is with deep regret that I_

Lois sighed, backspaced everything, and tried again. Her fingers moved over the keyboard for seven words until they stopped at,

_Dear Perry,_

_I am writing to inform you that_

No. Try again. This time she got as far as;

_Dear Perry,_

_My time here at the Daily Planet means more to me than it would ever be possible to_

With an inarticulate noise of frustration she gave up mid-sentence, highlighted the text with her cursor and cut it. Leaning her cheek on one hand she stabbed out another attempt using just one finger.

_Dear Perry_

_The truth is I am in love with Clark who also happens to be Superman._

Lois let that linger on screen before holding the finger to the delete button and flipping the laptop closed without bothering to save. After a moment she removed the reading glasses from her face, lifted them from around her neck, folded them and placed them neatly beside the tea. Hopping off the stool, she headed for her bedroom, wrapping her loose dressing robe around her more tightly as she went.

She flicked on the light and opened the doors of her master wardrobe. Selecting the first hanger, she carefully took out her ball gown and stood in front of her full length mirror, holding up the dress to her face. She ran her hand over the material, smoothing out the non-existent creases. It was such a beautiful dress. She would have looked so good.

"Damn it, Clark."

* * *

Clark had sought out the dimmest, loneliest, most remote cornerbooth of the cocktail lounge and parked himself and his Perry there. His bow tie was unpicked, and drooped forlornly underneath his open collar, and he sighed as he took off his glasses and allowed his hands to rub the weariness away. He was very tired. He hadn't been to bed in over twenty-four hours, and everything was finally catching up to him. The bottle of Scotch and the shot-filled glass had accompanied him faithfully over here but he still hadn't touched a drop from either.

Over on the opposite side of the room, all the french windows were open out onto the garden terrace and lawn, and it was letting in a wonderful combination of fresh grass, balsam, and night-blooming jasmine. The party had moved out there, where tree branches were adorned with string lighting and gently swaying votives, and a dancefloor had been specially laid. On a backlit platform the two violins, two violas, and cello of the Metropolis Symphony Quintet were playing. People were dancing. The lilting strains of the Blue Danube drifted into the bar. Clark listened as the slower, romantic, middle-section of the waltz was played in D, no... F, major. He remembered back a couple of years, dancing out there with Lois. She had taken off her heels and lost approximately a third of her height in the process forcing him to be even more careful not to stand up too straight. He was so looking forward to not having to do that this year. He picked up the award from the table and rubbed his thumb across the scripted engraving. Their names; Lois Lane & Clark Kent. He smiled. Her name before his because she considered herself the senior partner and would never dream of conceding to anything as didactic or restrictive as the conventions of alphabetical order.

He tried to visualize not seeing her at work everyday. With no context against which to place the experience, it was hard to imagine the reality of that. For the last three months she had been the one person in his day to day life that knew, and he'd very easily become used to it. That was gone now- no more office ally, careful glances, wordless reassurances. And then there was everything before that; their entire professional history as plain old Lois and plain old Clark. No more staying late, watching her traipse about dictating outloud without her shoes on, catching skittles in her mouth, treating the place like she owned it. All those times they'd had to forgo mealtimes altogether and order in and eat at their desks- him trying not to laugh as he witnessed the next skirmish in her long-standing grudge-battle to open her yogurt pot and avoid backsplash, and losing, prompting a stream of foul-mouthed invective and an extremely colorful diatribe in condemnation of the lids; how do they expect normal people to open these things? What if I was an old person with crippling arthritis and... and... no dexterity? Or fingernails? Or a handy letter opener?_ stab stab stab stab stab_.

No more eyerolling at Cat, finger-wagging at Perry, affectionate hair-tousling of Jimmy (but only when no one else was looking). No one to play the guess-the-lyric game with. No more correcting her spelling. No more bumpkin jokes masquerading as 'constructive feedback'. She was the best writer he knew. She was a force of nature. It was difficult to believe that removing her would not leave a void people would orbit around and never fill. Clark ran his fingers through his hair. The thought of the Planet without her was unbearable. What on Earth was Perry going to say?

Oh God, what was _his mother_ going to say? Lois had asked him to marry her. And he had said no. His imagination was not vivid enough to provide a way of presenting that information to his mother that definitively precluded physical violence. Oh, he was in so much trouble.

He put down the award and edged the whiskey closer. Over, say, a time period of half an hour, the average male at his age and height would notice the pleasing benefits of a glass like this pretty soon after two or three drinks. Two or three more drinks and they would be feeling a little merry. Any more than that and they might lose consciousness, stop breathing and be dead. That was after thirty minutes and a quarter of a bottle, straight. He and Bruce had experimented once and found that if he downed ten bottles straight, he had difficulty not burping- but that was about it; sooner or later the laws of biology were overtaken by the laws of diminishing returns. His metabolism simply burned off alcohol faster than he could consume it. Clark twisted the base of the glass with his thumb and middle finger. He was concluding that when it came to drowning your sorrows if you could down your own body weight and have the only measurable effect be a constant need to pee- you were probably playing a losing game, when a shadow fell across the table and a figure slid into the seat opposite. Clark kept eyes on the glass in his hand. The figure spoke.

"Having fun?"

"I'm doing math."

"I believe congratulations are in order?"

Clark looked up. Richard was beaming but not looking very congratulatory. Oh, _fuck. Off._

"Shame Lois couldn't be here."

Clark remained neutral. "Yes, it is."

"So where is she?"

Richard had meant that to sound light but Clark could hear the strain in his voice, and it made him study Richard's face more closely. Richard looked angry, no, furious, and he seemed to be sizing him up. What for? _A fight_? Clark smiled wearily at the idea. "She didn't feel up to it."

Richard nodded. "So, you've seen her today?"

Clark didn't answer.

"When?"

"Does it matter?"

Richard seemed to find that funny. He looked away smiling. But it was the kind of smile that remains disconnected from the rest of the face. "You know, in our line of work you learn that it's important to trust your instincts. Go with your gut. I always thought you were a piece of work;"

Clark watched the smile harden and couldn't help but note that the meekly mild Clark-persona had never failed so spectacularly as in the case of Richard. Absently, he wondered why that was.

"it's always satisfying to have your instincts vindicated."

Clark nodded back gamely, but unmoved. "And it's always satisfying to be of some assistance. Even if it's just as a test case." He smiled and raised his glass in a toast. "Glad I could help you out."

The faux-smile disappeared from Richard's face entirely. "What the hell is your problem, man?"

Clark spat back, "I don't like you very much," with more honesty than was probably sensible, and offering, perhaps, a clue as to why the failure of his disguise in this specific instance was not such a mystery afterall.

The muscles in Richard's jaw were pounding. "What have you done to her?"

Clark sighed. A tiredness suddenly overwhelmed him that was not just physical. He felt that his soul was heavy. And his patience was wearing thin. "You know what, Richard? Me and Lois? What goes on; when I see her; how I see her; why I see her? It really isn't any of your business."

A genuine expression of disgust configured itself on Richard's face. "You think I'm interested in the details of your love life?" His throat strained, "_I want to know that Lois is okay_."

Clark raised his voice in kind; "She's nothing to do with you."

"She's my friend and my work colleague, and I don't see how that makes our relationship any less worthy than the one she shares with you."

Please! "Relationship? You think you have a relationship?" Clark's voice dripped with derision; "_You drop your pen_." As soon as it was out Clark was sorry he had said it. It was petty and immature, and mean-spirited.

Richard swallowed a couple of times, "I just want to know that Lois is okay-"

Clark snapped, "She's-" and then stopped. In that moment he so wanted to be flippant, so wanted to brush Richard and his bothersome concerns aside. 'Okay'? Of course she's okay! But he couldn't tell the lie. However much he wanted to believe in it himself, and he ended up unconvincingly gritting, "...fine."

Clark's circumspection made Richard more angry and he landed his fist against the table. "The hell she is." His nostrils were flaring in time to the frenetic final bars of the waltz outside, "Why isn't she here?"

"She didn't feel like it."

"Stop lying to me!"

The cellist was going crazy. He finished with a flourish. Deciding it was time for the quiet and reasonable approach, Clark bowed his head. "She'll be at work first thing Monday. Why don't you take this up in greater detail with her then?"

Richard simply regarded him in wonder. "You're a real asshole, you know that?"

After touching the side of his nose with one finger, Clark pushed both the bottle and glass away. He picked up the Perry and slid out of his seat. "This conversation's over."

* * *

Out on the street, Clark was striding away. Richard followed him and struggled to catch up without having to break into a trot. Kent seemed so much more athletic than his office demeanor might suggest. "Hey, hey! I'm talking to you!"

"_No_;" Clark had his hands in his pockets, "you're following me, and shouting at me, and neither of those two things qualifies as 'talking', and I'm really not in the mood."

Richard pawed at one of his shoulders to stop him. "I want to know what's going on!"

Clark turned on one heel to face him. "_Back_ off."

"The real reason she's not here."

"There is no other reason."

"Bullshit!"

Both men were breathing hard at each other. The strength of Clark's grip was leaving finger depressions in the glass award.

Richard's hands were on his hips as he tried to catch his breath. "She ran out of the office today. Did you even know that?" Richard could tell by the immediate softening of Clark's face that he didn't. "Oh, she didn't tell you?" He nodded wildly, "Yeah, she got upset and left work early. And she looked terrible. And where were you?"

Clark was no longer paying attention. She ran out of the office?

"Nowhere! As usual! Now she's not here, and you're sat there, _drinking_..."

...She didn't even do that after that time with the Oompa Loompa paint...

"What the hell is it with you two?"

Clark snapped out of it. Richard watched the defensives go back up. "It's like I said; it's none of your business."

Suddenly Richard looked pained. "Did you hurt her?"

Hurt her? How could...? That anyone could even _think_ that made him sick. As softly and as calmly as he could manage, Clark said, "Richard. I'm going to say this one. last. time; you have no idea what you're talking about."

Richard had had enough. He exploded, "No idea? I've got eyes, Kent!" His reaction forced Clark back a step. "No one else notices, or maybe they don't care, but you think I can't see what goes on everyday? How you are with her? You're in and out, blowing hot and cold. She's devoted to you. And you barely deserve it- you do nothing- except watch over her like a _fucking_ guard dog."

Behind the glasses Clark's eyes flickered. "You don't know anything about me."

"You're supposed to be her friend."

"I- care about her. Very much."

On the deserted sidewalk, under a streetlight, Richard spread his arms wide, "_You make her miserable_!"

Very quickly, one after the other, the fantasy that had him swinging a righthander at Richard and really shutting him up was replaced by an image from earlier this evening; Lois leaving his apartment and trying not to cry.

Richard witnessed the change on Clark's face, "Tell me I'm wrong?" He was practically pleading.

"I... I... I have to go."

"That's it, run away." Richard's voice carried down the street, "Just like you always do!"

As soon as Clark was out of sight he started to run, and he didn't stop running until he was sure no one could see, and then he was airborne

* * *

The bedroom was dark again. The dress had been re-hooked on the outside of Lois's wardrobe. In her bed, she slept. The numbers on her alarm clock flicked; midnight.

* * *

In the north, when the Solstice Sun hangs high over the Tropic of Cancer, time stops. Still dressed in his tuxedo, Clark leaned against a crystal balustrade and looked out across the arctic waste, the black of his suit in perfect contrast to the pure white of the Fortress walls.

The argument with Richard, the conversation with Lois, everything, the whole evening replayed in his mind. He shifted his weight on his feet. Puck was wrong. In A Midsummer Night's Dream, he was wrong; Reason and Love were natural allies.

It was simply a question of being unsentimental and realistic.

One had to be realistic.

Clark shoved his hands in his pockets and stared out over the endless horizon and starless sky.


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N: thanks for bearing with me, everyone- I appreciate it. Hope you enjoy.**

**ETA... hmmm. To misquote the great Bonnie Tyler; where have all the scene breaks gone? Where are all my dashes?**

* * *

It was a habit of his to get into work early. He liked arriving first, to walk into the newsroom with no one else around. He liked the quiet, and the sense of depth. He liked the way golden sunlight slanted in through the blinds and created strong angles of illumination in which dust motes fuzzed as if alive. He found that there was something magical, something wonderful, about the building at this hour. He found that sometimes, it was a little bit like walking through an Edward Hopper painting.

Other times, these kind of thoughts didn't cross his mind. On such occasions this was usually due to the fact that because he left for work so early, he was busy conducting a phone conversation as he arrived on the floor. The timing of the phone calls varied, and he did not receive them everyday. The common denominator between them was this; they were usually concerned with some important consideration that had been forgotten or simply neglected to be raised at an earlier, and more convenient juncture, they were the kind of conversations that normal people would have held over the breakfast table.

This morning, his phone rang as he was waiting for an elevator. When the elevator opened onto the newsroom, he was still talking into his cell. "I think you should go ahead, really."

Perry listened to the longwinded answer as he walked down the central aisle. "I just don't think it's for me."

He shrugged to no-one as he came up to his door. "No, of course, I don't mind- I can ask him to send you some more information, if you-"

"Mr White?"

Perry jumped. There was someone standing in the shadows right outside his office. He coughed into the phone. "Ma'am, can you hold the line, please?"

Perry squinted. "Kent?"

"Oh. Good morning, sir."

"You nearly gave me a heart attack."

"Yes. Sorry. Um, I was really just wondering if I could have a moment of your time?"

Perry swapped the phone between hands in order to open his door. "Can it wait? I'm in the middle of an extremely important," Perry hesitated, "...business ...matter."

He watched Clark blink and roll his lips. "When Lois comes in to work today, she's going to knock on your door and tender her resignation with immediate effect."

For a second Perry didn't move, didn't take his eyes off Clark. His hand remained on the handle. Then he raised the phone back to his ear.

"Alice, honey? I'm going to have to call you back."

* * *

Perry was leant back in his chair, his arms outstretched before him to his desk where he was keeping a white envelope upright with his fingertips. Having been dealt with, Clark's letter was now returned to its envelope, and Perry was tapping the bottom edge against the desk, like a dealer squaring the pack.

"The Bali Gazette? I don't think I'm familiar with it. Who's the editor?"

With a not unreasonable sense of perspective, Clark offered, "Franklin Donahue?"

Perry's brow still creased. "Donahue? Doesn't ring any bells."

"Well, I think it's more kind of a... local news... situation..."

Perry pinched the letter, lifting one end in the air. "I take it Lois doesn't know about any of this, yet?"

Clark was looking at his hands. He swallowed. "Not yet, no."

When Clark glanced back up, he saw that Perry was staring him in the eye. "Do you mind if I ask you something? Something personal?"

He shifted in his chair; two questions that contained some of the most unenjoyable words in his private lexicon. Right up there with, 'Hey, you know? You remind me of someone...' and 'It sure is warm to keep your sleeves rolled down like that'. Clark ducked against the scrutiny, and hedged, "Um. No, sure-"

"What happened at Niagara Falls?"

The center of Clark's eyebrows raised independently of his wish to remain poker-faced. "I'm sorry?"

Perry's forefinger dabbed at the edge of the envelope, like a Geiger counter testing for radiation. "You two haven't been right since I sent you on that story to Niagara Falls."

"Nothing happened."

Perry found it interesting that the face before him, which was always such an open book, was now so firmly closed. Lately, he had been forced to revise his thoughts on Lois and Clark.

Clark recognized the look on Perry's face as the same one that Lois used to give him when she didn't believe a word he had said either.

Finally, Perry hunched forward to lean his elbows on the desk. He was very solemn, taking his time. From underneath his heavy brow, he asked, "Is she pregnant?"

Taken by surprise, Clark choked out, "What? _No_!" For once he didn't have to fake a stammer. "_No_. ...I-I-I don't think so."

Perry's voice was soft, but reinforced with steel. "Because, if she were, you understand, Lois is like a..." He stopped. "She's very important to me. And something like that would change my mind about accepting," he held up the letter, "this."

"I- No. She's very important to me too, sir. She's not pregnant."

Their eyes spent a moment darting from side to side, looking for something. It was less helpful for Perry because Clark was always so terribly earnest. They were interrupted by a specific knock on the door, Clark flinched and Perry's heart sank. Sure enough, she was here. He had been hoping Kent would be wrong- that he had some wires crossed somewhere. There goes that. He called out, "Lois, come in."

Lois cracked open the door, smiling. "Hey, how did you know it was- oh." Noticing Clark, she stopped. He rose to his feet, all nervous energy and rumpled polyester, her gaze followed him all the way up. "Hello," her eyes narrowed suspiciously, "you," she said with the edge of her voice.

He gave an appropriately tentative, "Hi."

Switching focus to Perry, Lois pushed the inbetween of her fingers together and then pulled her hands apart again, "I, uh... Sorry, I didn't realize, anyone would be here." Pointedly, she looked at Clark- "I did have an appointment." She turned to Perry again, "Uh," her thumb gestured backwards, "I guess I'll wait outside."

"No, Lois. Please," Perry held out his hand to the vacant chair on Clark's left, "sit down. Both of you, sit down."

Clark silently lowered back on to the chair, but Lois remained where she was, half in and half out of the doorway. She looked from Perry to Clark, and back to Perry again. "Well. It's kind of a private matter, so, if you don't mind..."

But Perry beckoned her inside. "Please."

With an inflected, "O-kay," Lois relinquished, and came in and arranged herself in the seat. For a moment the three of them just sat there. Perry was smiling weirdly at her and she was aware of waves of discomfort flowing in her direction off Clark. It all added to the odd and uncomfortable atmosphere she felt she had unwittingly walked into. She felt that they were all waiting for something- she just couldn't be sure what. Perry broke the silence.

"Congratulations for Friday, by the way. We missed you. I hope you're feeling better."

"Oh. Yeah." She gave a small, sincere smile. "Thankyou." Out the corner of her eye she watched Clark. Her thumbs rotated over themselves as she waited for an appropriate amount of time to elapse. Sensing an opportunity to strike, she addressed Perry, "Now, perhaps, if I could just speak to you-"

Perry cut loudly across her, "-There's something I want you two to do for me." He read the faces of the reporters opposite him. Kent looked edgy and unsure about where this was headed. Lois simply looked bemused. He could tell that she was trying to work out what it is that was wrong. What she had done wrong.

"I want you to keep ProGen on hold again."

Lois relaxed back into the chair in relief- for a second she thought Perry was building up to something serious. "You know what? That's fine. But I think I should just probably talk to you about something first..."

"I know it's been a little stop-start, but today I want you to go do a little investigative work for me. Out in the field."

Lois gave her editor two little thumbs-up. "Perry, that sounds great, but the thing is, I really think that I-"

Perry pressed his fingertips together and steamrollered over her again, "I want you to go stake out the corner of Metropolis Park. Both of you. Together. Right now."

Clark tried to keep from cringing at the combat-boot subtlety of Perry's approach. Lois simply stared back at the impenetrable neutrality of his expression. She blinked. "Har har very funny. But this won't take a second." She turned her head to her right, "Clark, would you mind?"

"Uh, no. Um?" Clark looked at Perry for help as he slowly got to his feet. "I'll just-"

Perry flapped a hand at him, "Clark, sit down- Lois, I'm serious. I want you to go stake out the corner of Metropolis Park." He licked his lips. "Now."

Lois waved her hands in the air in appeasement- as if settling down a dotty old uncle, "Yes yes, of course you do, but see, this private matter that I'm referring to?" She held her hands out in front of her and touched her index fingers to her thumbs in the OK sign, "It's a real thing, as opposed to a stupid joke thing."

Perry was unamused. "This is not a stupid joke thing." He reached for the telephone in the corner of his desk. "I have to return a call. I'll see you both later."

Lois finally allowed her bemusement to make it all the way to annoyance. "Chief, I made an appointment with your secretary."

"Later."

"This is really important."

"I said 'later', Lois!"

Lois shrank back, stung by his tone. He kept his voice curt even as he privately registered the unfairness of his overreaction. "Thankyou. I'll see you both later."

Perry lifted the receiver. "Good luck."

Lois's eyes snapped back to Perry. She made a point of stepping aside to let Clark walk out first.

* * *

The really remarkable thing about the corner of Metropolis Park, Lois thought, was that you couldn't hear any traffic. Although this particular corner ran adjacent to Metropolis Park South and Fifth Avenue, the line of Elm trees and the landscaped rock garden behind her had been designed to soak up the relentlessness of the noise outside, and this corner, this bench, was protected not just from the wind, but from the city, too.

She was sat wearing her sunglasses, with her legs crossed and her hands in her lap, enjoying the peace. The start of another beautiful day. There was no wind this morning, just a light breeze that stirred her hair against her face. The grass was still dewy but she could already feel an extremely agreeable warmth against the top of her head. A morning runner jogged by.

Staking out the corner of Metropolis Park. It was a bullpen in-joke, a euphemistic method of removing you from the office, Perry's way of allowing people to safely let off steam. What was it they called it in the trade papers? Gardening time. Lois passionately hated being handled, but whatever Perry and Clark were cooking up, at least it was easier to take on a morning like this. She picked something off the knee of her trousers. Lucky for them. An hour ago she and Clark had not quite managed to sit down before that look crossed Clark's face and now he was off Supermanning somewhere. Something about a burst water main.

She bounced the foot of her crossed leg in thought. Or he was just a big chicken. It was not necessarily an either/or kind of situation.

Over across the grass, in the dappled shade of an Oak tree, a Tai Chi class gathered and began to limber up. Thirty people in sweatpants and white running shoes making slow synchronized movements. From this distance, it was a bit like watching men and women trapped in treacle doing the Thriller dance; there was a certain lava lamp-esque quality to it. A bird flew out of the top of the Oak tree and up into the air, and her eyes followed it. The sky was azure blue, but not clear. It was marked by tiny airplane trails and dotted with clouds- not the portentous trouble-brewing-on-the-horizon kind, but the wispy white kind that looked like puffy cotton balls. The kind that Clark had told her were good for cannonballing through and making donut shapes out of. Because her imagination and stomach were directly connected, she felt her stomach gurgle. She leaned and moved her head, looking and wondering if it was still too early for food stands.

That was when she caught sight of him off to her left, re-entering the park. Because her eyes and heart were also directly connected, she felt an involuntary skip in her chest. And, apparently, it was not too early for food afterall.

She uncrossed her legs and got comfortable again as he sat down next to her.

"Sorry about that."

"You don't need to apologize."

He handed over the foil wrapped parcel she had noticed him carrying. "I got you this."

Her eyes twinkled at him. "It's not that I don't appreciate the thought? But I'm not sure how necessary the burger run alibi is, now that, you know, I've known about the secret identity stuff for quite some time."

Clark smiled at the coffee he had got for himself.

She rested the foil between her knees whilst she lifted her sunglasses onto her head. "What is it?"

"A chili dog with everything on it. Except for ketchup."

Lois began peeling away the corners of the packaging like the wrapping from a gift. Apart from the crinkle-crackle of foil, and in the background, birdsong, there was silence. It rested heavily upon them. "So, now are you going to tell me what's really going on here?"

Clark peered over at the food in her lap. "Oh, sorry, I didn't actually ask, I just assumed they ran out."

Lois's mouth twitched. She looked away, squinted into the sun and sniffed, "Okay, well, you be over there, being you- I'll be over here waiting for us to have a proper conversation," she looked at him cheerfully, "like adults."

Clark sighed. Fair enough. He nodded to himself in a silent pep talk, his thumbs tapping at the lid of his coffee cup. With a last fidget of his glasses, he took a deep breath; _here we go_. It was probably best to just get this over with anyway...

"Lois. The thing is..." He looked at her and at the crucial moment, he backed out. There was a mannered hesitation. "...I can't even remember the last time we were here."

She read it. She enlightened him, "Middle of the summer, June. Last year. Perry wanted me out of the way while 'witnesses' were interviewed." She looked away. "You ran off after you trod in dog's mess." Her head cocked for accuracy's sake, "Or pretended to."

"Oh. Yes." He looked down again at the cup. The aftermath of Lois's last softball game. He had wanted to stay here with her but he had been called away. "Well, I don't know why we don't come here more often. It's so beautiful."

There was a false lightness to his tone, a false lightness that he had been carrying since walking out of Perry's office, and she was running out of patience. She hated it when he was nervous, because it made her nervous, and then that made him _even more_ nervous- there was a whole self-perpetuating cycle of doom to the thing.

She needed to pin him down. "Clark."

He dipped his head. "Sorry." Here we go, this time... The tapping on his cup increased. "So, how's your chili dog?"

"Clark."

"I asked for extra mustard."

"_Clark_."

"I hope it's not too hot."

She rocked her head back, "Oh, would you just spit it out?"

"I'm leaving the Planet. I've resigned."

The unexpectedly abrupt return of his answer momentarily knocked Lois off her stride. She bobbled her head, "Oh really?"

"Yes."

"And when was that decided?"

There was a lull, a moment of zen-calm as Clark read the lettering that edged the plastic coffee lid; CAUTION- HOT CONTENTS INSIDE. "On Friday night you told me you'd been doing some thinking. I've had the weekend, and I've been doing some thinking, too."

"Oh, is that what you call it? 'Thinking'. Because you know what I call it?" Lois poked her finger at him, "I call it going against my _express wishes_ that I be the one to leave. I thought I made that clear. That this is _my choice_." She corrected the dislodging of her sunglasses that the strength of her poking had caused, "And you know something else, Clark? It's pretty sneaky, going behind my back to Perry, like that."

"Yes." Clark looked up. "And I apologize for that. But I'm not sorry about anything else. You belong at that newspaper." His face was dead-set. "And Perry agrees with me."

"Oh, does he now?" Lois returned his gaze, darkly, "So I guess you've got it all hashed out between you, do you?"

Clark was quiet.

She picked at the bun of the hot dog in an effort to hide how hurt she really was. "So what did he say?"

Clark talked to his hands. "He wished me luck, he told me he was sorry to see me go." There was a pause while Clark stopped to scratch the underside of his jaw with one finger. "And he wanted to know if you were pregnant."

Lois threw her head back, "Oh, Jesus, Clark." Her fingertips rubbed across her forehead and down one cheek in embarrassment. "What did you say?"

Clark's shoulders lifted, "I told him that you weren't!" A thought suddenly crossed his mind. He didn't disguise a quick look at her stomach. "You're not, are you?"

Lois rolled her eyes irritably, "No, I'm not pregnant." She sucked a blob of chili sauce off her thumb, irritated. "Would it make a difference if I was?"

He stared at her. "Are you serious?"

"Well, would it?"

"Yes, it would make a difference. _Of course_ it would make a difference."

The inference pissed her off. "Oh, what. Poor, unlucky Lois? Stuck with more than she bargained for? Suddenly _that's_ enough to keep you in the newsroom? _Out of pity_? Thanks alot, Clark. How pathetic do you think I am?" She glared at him hotly. He returned it.

"No, that's not it! A baby..." His eyes were all over her face. "Yes, it makes a difference."

She turned away from him and he looked away from her and if she didn't have to balance a hot dog in her lap she would've crossed her arms and legs too. For a minute they didn't speak, silenced into an equal grumpiness with each other, and both equally sure they held the moral high ground.

Eventually Lois tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "What else did he say?"

"He was just about to organize putting in a good word for me to my new boss when you walked in."

"Well, that's that then." Lois admitted to herself rather than to him. "No chance anyone'd be crazy enough to pass you up with that kind of endorsement," she said whilst actually thinking; 'No chance to sabotage it from the inside'. "So where are you going?" She picked off a slice of pickle and chewed it without enthusiasm. "Newstime?"

Clark smoothed down the hair on the back of his head. "No."

She crunched another pickle. "Metro?"

"No."

Lois glanced at him in surprise,"Clark." She frowned, "Not another daily?"

Clark cleared his throat before gently admitting, "Not in Metropolis, no."

A third piece of pickle remained between Lois's fingers, uneaten. Her expression clouded, "'Not in Metropolis'; what does that mean?"

"I'm leaving. Metropolis."

Her hand dropped back to her lap. Her eyes mapped his face. He could feel the weight of her stare. "What do you mean?"

He found her gaze. "I'm leaving, Lois."

She blinked, a frown began to form, a dark line intersecting her eyebrows. "Well, where are you going?"

"Away."

"_Clark_." Lois shook her head, exasperated. "What does that mean? 'Away.' What does that even mean?" She lifted her shoulders, "Away where? Back to Smallville? Gotham?" One hand gestured the air, "The Arctic Circle?"

His silence was damning. Lois moved her head back in disbelief.

"What, you're not even gonna tell me? You're going to make me guess? Is that it? 'Cause I'm warning you, you'll get bored of this game faster than I will; I grew up an Army brat and there were _alot_ of long-distance car journeys."

Clark's eyebrow went up. "I travelled 0.317 light years without stopping before I was three years old."

"Oh, well you win the game, then." She crabbed. "Stop trying to change the subject."

He opened his mouth to apologize and to explain, but he was interrupted by Lois changing the subject; "And you had all that in-flight entertainment stuff in there anyway, that doesn't count." She pointed, "We had license plate games and I-Spy."

"Bali."

For a second Lois simply stared at him. She repeated, "Bali."

"It's one of the island's in-"

"-I know where it is." Her mind grappled with the shifting tectonic plates of their relationship, altering the topography of her life, even as they spoke. "You're moving there?" She asked like she couldn't quite believe she was saying the words.

He nodded.

"For how long?"

"Well, I don't know..." He rubbed a finger behind one ear, "...it's an open contract."

"_Clark_." Lois stubbed a balled fist against the seat in frustration at his lack of transparency. "For how long? A month? Six months? A year? Can you at least give me a ballpark figure?"

Their eyes locked and Lois was unsettled by the look on his face. "For a long time. For, forever."

Questions were forming and being pushed forward at a speed that was without consideration for the part of her brain that was desperately trying to process what it was that was being said to her. Dimly, she asked, "When will I see you?"

"You won't." She could see that he was trying to smile. Trying to force some light and lightness into this conversation; "That's sort of the point."

He was trying to make this easier but he had misjudged. "When you do leave?"

Clark addressed his coffee cup again, "I talked to Perry. I've just got to work my notice."

Lois's face appeared to darken. "Are you kidding me?"

Her questions were finally catching up to the heat she could feel flaring inside of her. She was mad. She was _furious_.

"No."

"Two weeks- and that's it?" She slapped the food down on the bench beside her, "'We'll always have Paris'! '_Thanks for the memories'_?" Her voice broke, "_Why_?"

"Employment Law requires that I-"

"Don't you _dare_ talk to me like you don't know what I'm talking about," she hissed, incensed, "I want to know; 'Why'?"

"Why?_ Why_?" Clark turned his body to face her. "Because everything you said to me on Friday night is true. Because all we're doing is filling in the gaps. Because the longer I stay here, the harder it's going to get." He threw a hand dramatically in the air, as if plucking his answers out of the ether, "Because there was an earthquake, because a vacancy came up. Because I can't watch you come apart at the seams-" He stared at her, catching his breath, "Why do you think?"

"You know what, Clark? I don't know what to think! I have absolutely no idea what to think! One second I'm outside your door waiting for you to come back from Indonesia, and then the next, you're _emigrating_ there."

He was glaring at her, "I can't stay here."

"Why not?"

"All I'm doing is hurting you."

Lois nearly laughed, "Hurting me?" She pressed her fingertips to her chest. "_Hurting_ me?" She opened her arms, "What the hell do you call this?"

Clark's mouth thinned to a line. "A clean break."

"This is bullshit!"

His voice raised to match hers, "You were leaving, too- what's the difference?"

"The difference? You want to know what the difference is?" Lois squeaked. She threw out an arm to point wildly in the direction of the city behind them, "I was leaving for the other side of the _street_; you're leaving for the other side of the world! _That's the difference_! It's literally _a world _of difference. What the hell is wrong with you? Why can't you see that?"

Undaunted, he argued back, "And I'm asking you; what's the difference? Whether it's the next street? Whether it's the next room? If we can't be together why does it matter where I am if I can't see you anyway?"

"Exactly!"

Having lost track of who was winning which argument, they remained facing each other, breathing heavily and staring each other out.

Clark sighed, shaking his head softly, "If I don't go, you'll never move on from," he waved a hand between them, "whatever this is. I'm holding you back."

Lois's eyebrows went up. "Moving on? You want to talk about _moving on_? All this was never mentioned on Friday night. On Friday night; when YOU were the one freaking out about 'moving on'." She opened her hands, "What the hell happened to celery?"

"I've had time to think about it since then."

Now that the hot dog had been abandoned to the space of bench that separated them, Lois could fold her arms in a gesture of disgust and cock her head away from him unhindered. "Yeah, right," she sassed out the side of her mouth, "You mean _wallow_ in the juices of your own self-imposed exile from the thoughts and feelings of normal human beings." By which Lois meant: her.

He gave her a reproving look. "I need to be out of your life, Lois. I need to be completely out of your life."

"That's not what I want."

"You don't know what you want."

The temperature of the exchange began to rise again. "_Yes_, I do!"

"No, you don't!"

Her jaw set. "Don't tell me what I want and what I don't want. I know what I want! And what I want right now is for you to not stand there and presume to tell me what it is that I want!"

"Well, someone's got to!"

Lois looked to the heavens for help as her fists clenched in sheer, impotent, frustration with him. "God- you _always_ do this! Make everything about you, and not tell me what you're feeling, and try to manage my life for me!" She pointed at herself, "I'm perfectly capable of making the right decisions."

"No, you're not," Clark insisted, "not when it comes to me!"

"Oh!" Lois's head quirked again, "But you are?"

There was a beat. He said, "I'm not saying that, exactly," in a tone which suggested that, frankly, that was precisely what he WAS saying, and _she darn well knew it_.

Lois's index finger hung at her bottom lip in thought, "Right, sorry, yes. I forgot. Because you've got such a _great_ track record in that department."

Clark frowned, "What does that mean?"

She enthusiastically ticked a list off on her fingers; "You avoided me for _weeks_ after we got back from the Fortress; THEN you tried to palm me off with a _house plant_; you didn't discuss the de-powering chamber with me," she paused to check for their privacy, turning back to snitch; "you never even told me you were Superman!"

Underneath the line of a lowered brow, Clark begged to differ. "Yes, I did."

"_No_, you didn't."

He was mystified. "What are you talking about?"

"Clark!" Lois shrilled. "You didn't _tell_ me; you were railroaded into coming clean after you TRIPPED on a _pink_ bearskin rug!"

"Hey hey!" Clark nodded to himself, "That was ...a ...subconsciously intentional trip..."

She shook her head at him in wonderment. "You just can't help yourself, can you? 'Lois is asking for some emotional distance. Hey, I know what I'll do! I'll leave the country! Someplace where I'll neeever have to chance running into her _ever_ again,'" Lois sing-songed. "What is it? Your Kryptonion side kicking in? Some kind of pathological need to rub salt into an open wound?"

His face was pinched. "That's not what I'm doing."

"It's not good enough to just let my heart ache in peace-" Lois swept her hand out in front of them, "you've got to rip it apart and watch it bleed all over the place, too?"

This time it was his hands that clenched in deep exasperation with her. "That's the point! That's the entire point! I can't stand here and see you like this. I _don't want_ to watch your heart bleed! If anything I'm... I'm trying to stem the flow!"

"Well, you're doing a pretty crappy job!" She shouted, "The nurse just hit the alarm because this patient needs a transfusion!"

"You know something?" he spat back. "That's the smartest thing you've said all day. You need me out of your system."

"Jesus_christ_, this is ridiculous." Lois stood up, snatching her handbag and chili dog with her. "I'm not going to sit here on a park bench extending_ medical metaphors_ with you."

Clark got up to follow her. "Lois. Come back. Where are you going?" He wanted to reach out and touch her, but he wasn't sure how she would react. "Lois. Lois! Please don't walk away from me!"

Without warning she spun on her heel to face him. "Or what, Clark? You'll never speak to me again?" From point blank range she hurled the hot dog at him, "_I thought that's what you WANTED!_"

The hot dog hit him square on the chest with such velocity that for a second it was held in place by gravity and sauce. Then a tipping point was reached and it dropped to the floor. He watched her exit the park. He lifted his tie and flicked bits of chopped onion off his shirt, and one particularly large and stubborn piece of tomato that had landed on his chin. Over by an Oak tree an entire Tai Chi class was watching him.

He pointed to the exit and yelled over, "Practising for our theater production! I'm Petruchio; she's Katherina." Clark shrugged at thirty blank expressions, "She's pretty good, huh?" He kind of weakly raised his fist in the direction of the gate, "'Come hither ye back! Wench'!"

The Tai Chi class turned away. Clark rubbed a hand through his hair. In the distance, someone was calling for Superman again.

* * *

When Clark finally made it back to work, Lois was not sat at her desk. Louie was. Without breaking stride he made a beeline for Perry's office. Out the corner of his eye he could see that Richard had noticed his arrival and was stood in his office sending him a death-glare. Although it was insane Clark tried to somehow psychically transmit the idea that this panic was not about Lois just to spite him.

As Clark swept past, Louie spotted him too, "Hey, Kent!"

Clark half-turned back to see Louie limping after him. He lifted his hands in apology, "I'll be right there, Louie."

He knocked on Perry's door and went straight in. Perry looked up and immediately dropped the papers in his hand. "So, how did it go?"

Clark hesitated. "She didn't come back?"

Perry slapped his palms down in front of him. "Oh, that well, huh?" He shook his head at no one; "Is it too late to take back that award?"

"You've not seen her?" A black, creeping, niggling feeling of dread began to take root in Clark's heart.

"No, not since this morning. When she walked out of here looking like she was ready to go ten rounds, and you were the punchbag." Perry eyes narrowed, "How come she's not with you? What happened? Didn't you tell her?"

"Yeah." Clark scratched the back of his head. "I told her."

A pair of white eyebrows lifted. "And?"

Clark's head inclined to one side. "She got a little upset. And then she ...walked off."

Perry saw through the valiant but unconvincing attempt at understatement. "You had a fight." He squinted, "In the corner of Metropolis Park?"

Clark took a moment. "It would be accurate to say that words," he glanced at the yellowish stain on his shirt, "...and ...condiments, were exchanged in the heat of the moment, yes."

Perry was frowning. "You've been gone hours. How come it took this long for you to come back?"

In the tricky gap between opening and closing his mouth a few times and actually having to explain away just why Superman's involvement with water pipes, a mugging, and a house fire had a way of complicating Clark's relationship with Lois, there was another knock on Perry's door. Louie poked his head inside.

"Sorry to interrupt, Chief. Any chance I can pass a message onto Kent?"

Perry held up one finger, "Lou, we're just a little busy right now."

"It's about Lois, it won't take a second."

In one short moment, the focus within the room was transferred entirely onto Louie. He found it ever-so-slightly unnerving. "Could you just tell her I went ahead and sent the check to the Veterans Association, like she asked? Thanks." He nodded once at Clark and tipped an imaginary hat at Perry, "Boss."

Clark frowned. "Uh. Check?"

Louie shifted his weight back into the room. "Yeah. Tell her I went ahead and sent it to the mailing address on the website."

Clark shook a hand in front of himself. "Wait Louie. I'm sorry. I don't know what you're talking about?"

"Lois's check, her winnings." Louie jerked his head, "I sent it along for her, like she asked." Kent still looked blank.

"Winnings?"

"Yeah, you know?" He jerked his head again, this time more deliberately, "She won the office pool this year."

Slowly grasping what Louie was saying, Clark could feel the black creeping dread tightening inside his chest. "Lois did."

Louie nodded. "Yeah, she was the only winner."

"Lois, bet on us, winning- together?" Clark articulated each word carefully, like the sentence was gibberish and had been constructed at random from a foreign language phrase generator.

Louie nodded brightly.

Clark was feeling a little sick. "Her bet was that we won Best Story- together. That we were joint winners. That was her bet?"

Louie leaned in, "Every year you bet on her, and she bets on the two of you. And you never tell each other." He smiled at the innocent foolishness of youth. "Kind of sweet, right?"

Perry winced. Weakly, Clark said, "She bet on us."

"And she finally won. Third time lucky, huh?" Louie suddenly checked his watch. "I've got a press call. If you could you just tell her about the check?"

Although the walls of his world were falling in on him like a silent movie short, Clark had been raised correctly, and even in the midst of a personal crisis there was no need to be rude. He pasted the best approximation of a smile on his face and thanked Louie. "Of course. I'm sure she'll appreciate you doing that."

The sportswriter winked no problem and left. Clark looked at Perry, horrified.

"Well, don't just stand there. What are you waiting for?"

* * *

"Lois?"

Clark rapped the door three more times.

"Lois, it's me again. Lois? Are you home?"

He leant closer and whispered, "Please answer the door."

He sighed. That there was no response was not a total surprise. He had been back and forth between her apartment and work all day. There had been no sign of her since this morning.

Following the routine he had established on the earlier visits, Clark knocked once more, waited a reasonable amount of time, and then pressed his ear hard against the surface of the door. Somehow, and ridiculously, his conscience had deemed super-powered listening not quite as rude or invasive as super-powered looking.

He held his breath. He could hear nothing. He straightened back up and looked either way down her hall, wondering why there was never a neighbor in the mould of Mrs Ramirez around when they might actually be useful.

With his hands on his hips, Clark spent a minute just stood there, eyeing the door, chewing his lip, wrestling with himself.

"Oh, to hell with it." He pulled the bridge of his glasses down and x-rayed her walls.

The apartment was dark and empty. The only movement came from the timer on the display of her Ti-Faux as it ticked along, recording something. This morning's coffee cup remained, undisturbed, on the nearest counter top.

Clark's body leaned forward until he was practically flush with the door. The door reverberated to a dull thudding sound as he began to nod his forehead against it.

* * *

Alice slept in a little the next morning, so Perry was able to field her call when he was already in his office.

As they talked he watched the city as it woke up.

"Really, honey- I've got my golf. That kind of ...Buddhist ohm business is really not my thing."

He squinted.

"Well, poetry, then."

On a clear day you could see the spires of Saint Mary's from here.

"Yes, but, it's a different kind of writing."

In the reflection of his window he noticed the light on the elevators blink on. He swivelled himself expertly back round to face in the direction. "Listen, can I call you back?"

Clark was practically jogging through the newsroom, heading for him. He replaced the handset as Clark came through the doors. "Do you two ever sleep? Next thing you know, you'll be behind this desk."

"Have you seen her?"

"No-"

The young man's entire body seemed to wilt.

"I've not seen her."

The hesitation, and the trickiness of Perry's phrasing had an expression of renewed hope writing itself immediately across Clark's face.

"She called me up last night, asking to take some annual leave." He stretched his fingers out on the leather inlay of his desk. "Look Clark, the thing is she's got about ten years stored up, so there's no telling when she'll be back."

"Yes, but did she say-?"

Perry held up his hands and cocked his wrists in the rhythm of the sentence "-I don't know. She wouldn't tell me anything, and so I don't know."

Clark looked unfazed, and lowered himself to perch on the edge of a seat without taking his eyes from Perry, "But... could you hazard a guess? I mean, did you hear anything in the background? ...An airport announcement? ...A foreign language? The sound of the sea?"

Perry scowled, trying to dampen him down a little. "What the hell are you talking about; 'the sound of the sea'?" He pointed, "Does it look like these ears have Super-hearing?"

"But." Clark's lips moved wordlessly, "She could be gone months?"

Perry could only nod.

"But I leave in two weeks?" He looked shattered.

There was not alot more to say. "I'm sorry, son."

* * *

For two weeks he lived a double life within a double life. At work, he was normal. He exchanged pleasantries with people. He knocked into stuff. He pretended to care when someone on some tv show was mean to someone else. At home, he went about the business of separating and tying off the threads of Clark Kent's life in Metropolis.

He mentally and then physically made two piles; things that he would be taking to Bali, and things that he would not. He began by sorting through his clothes- there was so much that he wouldn't need anymore. After conscientiously making sure there were no clues accidentally left in the pockets- no invitations or ticket stubs suspiciously assigned to Superman- he filled four black garbage bags with coats and sweaters to give to the Goodwill. Everything else that was left and not suitable to be donated to charity was boxed up to be stored at the farm.

He terminated the lease of his apartment. He vice-chaired his last Tenant's Association meeting- at which he was blanked by Mrs Ramirez. He went in to say goodbye to the volunteers and children at the Welfare Center, and tried not to well up when they presented him with a football they had all signed.

He visited Stan who insisted on one last card game. He kept himself together well, better than the Welfare Center, but Stan got a little emotional and had to pretend it was his new contact lens solution.

He bumped into Mrs Ramirez again who also got a little emotional, but in the way in which new contact lens solution was never mentioned and there were unambiguously-worded threats regarding Clark's well-being.

Every night he packed a little bit more of his life into removal boxes. Logistically, the process was alot easier than he imagined. Once his book collection had been prepared for the flight across, there was really not that much left, and his progress was quite smooth until the end of the first week when he came across the engagement ring and spent the rest of the evening just staring at it.

Running alongside this routine of packing were his regular check-backs of Lois's apartment. As much as he resisted it, Clark remained optimistic, and had to re-experience the dragging weight of disappointment every time he knocked on her door and she didn't answer. Days passed. She didn't send a post card. She didn't get back in touch with Perry. He hoped she was alright.

The first week rolled unsympathetically into the second. On the Wednesday, Independence Day came and went. He kept their tickets for the firework display right up until the night itself and then he scrunched them up and scored a couple of wastepaper baskets with them. Instead, he disinterestedly half-watched the event from the air, in between taking care of the usual variety of domestic incidents and minor burn mishaps.

And then the morning of his last day arrived.

Somehow, against all evidence to the contrary, he had convinced himself that when he walked into work, she would be there. She _had_ to be there.

When she wasn't, Clark was forced to deal with the very real possibility that the last conversation they were ever going to have with each other ended after being assaulted with reconstituted sausage meat and a soggy white whole grain bun.

In her absence, what he wanted more than anything was to keep his departure low key. If it was at all possible, he wished to slip away from the Planet as he had first shown up- unnoticed, unheralded and with a minimum of fuss. Of course, this didn't account for Jimmy. A farewell party had been organized for the afternoon. Finger food had been ordered. Jimmy had baked a cake.

Clark's main feeling about all this was that these mini rites of passage in life were fine, and sometimes they were helpful. But they were not really for you. They were for the people left behind.

"Wow." Jimmy looked thoughtful. There was a pause before a tremendously loud sucking noise from the end of his straw as he vacuumed up the melt-away of his ice cubes. "That's kind of deep."

Clark nodded that it kind of was. He and Jimmy were sat opposite each other. Although it was not the last Friday of the month, Clark had brought him here for the observance of at least one ritual he was keen to uphold- their last Le Bistro lunch.

As a courtesy to the cake waiting for them, and uniquely in their patronage, they didn't order dessert. While they waited for the coffee to arrive Clark fiddled with his napkin, not sure how to word this.

"Jimmy, listen. While I'm gone." He sighed and looked up. "The thing is, I need to ask you a favor."

Jimmy's expression turned serious. He suddenly looked very grown-up. It was his nature to cope with the sadnesses of life with a joke and a smile, but at some point, and not even consciously, he had realized his best friends were probably in love with each other, and that this was a delicate, difficult thing. He wasn't sure what Clark was going to say. But he also knew that whatever it was, it was important, and it was about Lois.

"While I'm gone..." Clark's head dropped and then bobbed back up again. His eyes burned into Jimmy's. "Just. Just please don't let her put herself in the way of unnecessary danger."

Jimmy's face altered only slightly. But enough to illustrate to Clark the unfairness, the impossibility of the request. Without changing his expression or modulating his tone, Clark blinked and qualified; "On those occasions when she puts herself in the way of unnecessary danger- please be there with her."

Even though he knew there was no way any harm would ever come to her with Superman around, Jimmy had sworn it.

* * *

When they arrived back at the Planet, ties had been loosened and tools had been downed in a floor-wide consensus to start the holiday weekend early. Someone had hooked up an ipod and although there was no alcohol and therefore no dancing, there was an easy, swaying mood to the room. Sweetly, while he had been out of the office, a makeshift banner had been created by tacking sheets of letter paper in the windows. It read GOODBYE CLAR ! because one of the sheets had fallen off with condensation. A couple of middle desks had been nudged together and laid with trays of snack food. The overall effect was kind of crummy, but Clark was touched and the sense of a terrible loss broke over him. It wasn't long before a paper cup of lemonade had been placed in his hand and he was wearing a pointy party hat. The afternoon passed with alot of people he had never spoken to telling him quite genuinely how much they were going to miss him. Sometimes this was preceded by a handshake, sometimes it was followed by a hug. Never one to miss an opportunity Mary-Ann from Payroll came up to the floor especially for a farewell embrace and pinched his ass.

In the middle of it all, Clark broke away and headed for the only closed door in the newsroom. There was one more loose end he wanted to tie up.

He knocked on the door. Behind the blinds, a voice asked him to come in. Richard was stood at a filing cabinet. Clark closed the door and the music outside was muted once again.

"I brought you some food. It's vegetarian."

Richard turned, eyed Clark and then the paper plate he was carrying. And then he sat down at his computer to carry on with work. "Look Kent, I appreciate what you're doing, but you don't like me, and I don't like you, so let's just leave it at that, okay? And not pretend otherwise, or that 'bygones', or a," he gestured to the plate without moving his eyes from the screen, "slice of quiche, is going to make it all better?"

Clark looked at the plate. At the inoffensive slab of cheese, onion and short-crust pastry. "I'm not exactly over here crossing my fingers for a reconciliatory dinner-date, Richard."

Richard glanced up. Quite seriously he asked, "Then why are you here?"

He put the quiche to one side. Without a prop his hands played with the end of his tie before Clark shoved them into his pockets. He cleared his throat and kicked at the floor before giving himself up to this. "Is it true you take sick children for plane rides every other weekend?"

Richard regarded Clark carefully before answering. What with the unsolicited offer of quiche and the lack of any obvious antagonism, he was wary of being caught off guard by this unusual line of attack. "Yes."

That seemed to settle some kind of matter. He watched Clark clench his jaw and nod to himself.

"You should just forget about the pen."

"I beg your pardon?"

Clark was nodding again. "The pen- the pen thing. With Lois. You should just forget about it."

Richard's mouth opened to respond.

Clark shrugged. "It didn't work anyway- she just thought you were a flake."

Again, Richard's mouth moved wordlessly. But it didn't matter because Clark was not paying attention. "My advice is to forget subtlety. You want her? You've got to win her over."

Richard finally found his voice. "You. You're here... giving me... _dating tips_?"

Clark could not allow himself to go off-message, to be side-tracked away from the things he had prepared, the things he needed to say. If he did, he knew he risked weeping. "Lois would never admit this out loud, but she loves romantic gestures. Not the big sweeping kind- but the little things. Handwritten notes, notes left on her desk." He unpocketed his hands so he could talk to his fingernails. "Little stuff. Stupid stuff. Stuff like that."

Richard still felt blind-sided by this entire, odd, conversation. "Love notes? _Lois_?"

Clark looked up sharply. "She wouldn't hesitate to kill with her bare hands to keep that information a secret."

For a second they were quiet.

"Why are you telling me all this?"

Clark wetted his lips. "I'm going away. And there's a chance that I..." He wavered and looked at his shoes. "That I..." He gave up on that sentence. "And I want to make sure that she's going to be okay." He finished, staring at Richard.

Richard voiced the words slowly, distrustfully- as the ideas came, "You're asking me to, step in, in your absence?"

Clark looked to the side. "I wouldn't put it like that, exactly..."

Richard raised an eyebrow, "Because it's incredibly patronizing, not just to me, but to her."

"Well, I was going to say, 'No, because I already have people on that', but, yeah, that too." When he looked back at Richard he found that they were both nearly smiling.

Richard frowned. "But why?"

Clark admitted steadily, "I want her to be happy. I don't want her to be miserable."

Richard looked at his desk, feeling uncomfortable. "Look, Clark, when I said that-"

"No, you were right. You were right." With a wry smile, he said, "She deserves someone whose first reaction to being asked to spend their life with her, isn't 'No'."

A kind of understanding passed between them. Richard had been in love once before and so he could read and make sense of the emotion in Clark's eyes, and know that like the cap of an iceberg, he was only seeing so much. He had been right about Lois and Clark- right that there was more between them then people assumed. And now, more than anything, he wanted to respect the privacy of it.

"She thinks that you're a good guy."

"I am."

"Don't let her down."

"I won't."

Clark had meant to end this by shaking Richard's hand. In the event he couldn't quite bring himself to do it. Coming here was enough. He turned to leave.

"Hey, Kent!"

Clark stopped.

"I hope you have a safe journey."

A tiny smile formed itself on Clark's lips.

"Even though I still think you're an asshole."

He looked round. Richard was wearing a matching smile.

Clark was halfway through the door before he stopped and came back again, "Oh, there was one other thing."

Richard lifted his chin.

"If you hurt her..." Clark's eyes zoned back to meet Richard's from some other, far away, place. The look made the skin on the back of Richard's neck pimple. "I'll find you."

* * *

The party was over and it had left for the bars. He had told Jimmy he was just going to be a minute, and he had not meant to lie. He was still wearing the pointy hat, and he wasn't even sure how long he had been sat like this, but it had been a while. He had just wanted to sit and impress on himself the memory of the newsroom the way he liked it best. When it was dark and quiet and everyone else had gone home. There was a part of him that appreciated the irony of not being there for the good time being had in his honor anyway.

He gazed over at her desk, at her empty chair. His own desk was bare save for a cardboard box full of his personal belongings and a small, sleek, digital radio- his leaving present from everybody. He checked his watch. He should really get going. It was after eight and there was one more box to pack at home.

Instead he left the desk and went to call the elevator.

When he stepped out onto the roof, Clark could tell immediately that someone was already up here and that they were smoking. He could also tell immediately that it was not the right kind of smoke.

Over on the opposite side, leaning one shoulder against a brick vent cover, Perry was looking out over the city, enjoying a cigar. He stirred, Clark's intrusion snapping him out of wherever he was.

Clark stepped forward into the light, "Sorry. I didn't realize anyone was still here."

Perry took the cigar out of his mouth. "Just me."

Clark shuffled back around to leave him in peace. Perry called him back. "Kent."

"Yes, sir?"

Perry stuck his hand deep into the inside of his jacket and removed something long and thin from the pocket. He held it out. "Here."

Clark walked over and took what had been offered. He looked at it, turning it over in his hands. The tube casing glinted in the light. It was branded Habanos 1875.

Without looking at him directly, Perry said, "It's a cigar, Clark- it's not a stick of dynamite."

Clark shook his head, smiling. "No, I- sorry, thankyou. It's me." He ran his thumb along it. "It's me. It's just..." He held it up, "These are supposed to be for celebrations," there was a pause, "aren't they?"

Perry narrowed his eyes, taking a drag. "That's what we're doing, isn't it?" He exhaled and nodded at the party hat, "Celebrating your time here. Toasting how much we're going to miss you."

Clark smiled and said softly, "I suppose." He removed the hat, folding it and tucking it in his pocket. He kept the cigar in his hand.

They were quiet. Clark listened to the hum of the city around them, the traffic, the mechanical whir of the giant globe above them. The familiar sounds of the city he loved. Above it, was the steady pull and puff of Perry's breath.

Perry expelled another plume of white smoke before holding the cigar away from his mouth. "Edward Bulwer-Lytton once wrote; 'A good cigar is as great a comfort to a man as a good cry to a woman'."

Clark nodded in appreciation.

A slow smile crept onto his face as he failed to resist the temptation; "Of course, Edward Bulwer-Lytton also wrote; 'It was a dark and stormy night'."

Perry looked at him sideways, at his know-it-all counterpart, and cocked the cigar in the air. "So he's not exactly Dostoevsky. But the guy _also _wrote, 'The pen is mightier than the sword,' I have that engraved on a Double Broad Montblanc given to me by Samuel Hopkins Adams himself, and, to paraphrase the words of Meat Loaf; two out of three isn't bad," he popped the cigar back between his teeth, "so shut the hell up."

Clark chuckled and they both smiled out into the twilight, enjoying a companionable silence. Not sure when he was going to get a chance to do this again, or even if he would, Clark absorbed the specifics of the view the best he could; the roof tops, and the water towers, the aerials, the yellow lights twinkling in the distance.

After a few minutes Perry removed the cigar again. "She comes up here alot doesn't she."

Clark scuffed the toe of his shoe. "She used to, I guess."

Perry nodded. "This is about Superman isn't it?"

Clark was well-practised, an expert, but the line separating Clark and Superman had become so blurred lately, that there was just the faintest, merest flicker in his eyes. "I'm sorry?"

Perry blew out another smoke ring steadily. "All this. You, and Lois." He drew a circle in the air with the burning end of the cigar, "It's about Superman." He paused. "The three of you."

Perry listened to Clark hesitate and then stumble, "Um. Well, I-"

He stopped him. "You don't have to explain yourself." He tilted his head to one side, "Of course; you're breaking up the best writing team I ever had and, more than anything what I'd like to do is lecture you about the dangers of office romances." Perry looked over to meet Clark's eyes, "But the truth is, that's how I met Alice."

He watched the beginnings of a grin forming itself on the young man's face. "Really?"

Perry raised his eyebrows, "She was a secretary for old man Howell, right up until the day he died." There was a ghost of a smile, Perry's eyes shimmering with the pleasure of a secret about to be shared; "I used to pretend I left something up in his office just as an excuse to go see her."

"Really." Clark replied with noticeably less enthusiasm. The pen-tactic was obviously some kind of White family modus operandi, perhaps a genetic trait passed on through the generations.

"It's just a shame." Perry blew out another breath, softly lamenting, "Best damn writing team I ever had."

Suddenly he turned his body to face Clark. "Your dad's dead, right, Kent?"

Clark answered clearly. "Yes, sir. Nine years ago in September."

Perry nodded but didn't say anything else. Instead he took a final drag to finish the cigar before throwing it to the floor and crushing the ember with his heel. "Time for home, I think." He smiled. "Alice always says smoking at night makes me maudlin."

As he came past he stopped and raised his left hand, resting it on Clark's left shoulder. Perry was a tall man. An imposing figure. Dark, quick eyes were level, close with his.

"I'm telling you, so that you know. You don't need to worry about Lois. She's going to be fine." He squeezed the shoulder. "I want you to look after yourself."

Returning Perry's gaze, Clark was aware of the same feeling he had had in a hotel room once. The prickling feeling that the person before him was mentally stripping away the layers of Clark- the comb-over and the glasses, and the little-boy lost; and was seeing right through him. "I will."

Perry shoved his hands inside his pockets and walked away to the stairwell door. Clark let out the breath he had been holding.

With his fingers on the handle, Perry stopped. "You know. That particular cigar is one from a box that was given to me by my father. For my very first day at the Planet. It's a pretty rare brand." Two whiskery eyebrows were raised at the memory, "I've know idea how he afforded it. I keep the box stocked for him."

Clark ran his fingers over the cigar. "Chief. Sir. I don't know what to say?"

"Save it for a special occasion."

"Yes sir."

They shared a look.

"Don't stay out here too long, Kent. It's getting late."

Perry pulled on the door. "Even for superheroes."

Clark remained still as the door closed. Perry's footfalls receded, disappeared down the stairs.

* * *

'_..that points one way, the light we used to pass by, ev-er-y daaay,'_

A small, robust-looking lady, with strands of silver threaded through the curls hair on her head, made her way back down the hallway to her apartment. She was wearing a rather severe expression.

'_Just walk away, Renée. You won't see me follow you back home. The empty sidewalks on my block are not the saaame. You are not to blame.'_

Behind her, the door of the apartment she had just exited was wedged wide open with a large and old fashioned suitcase. Through it, the song on the radio inside was still just about audible, and it serenaded her progress. Her slippered feet had to pick their way around storage containers, and boxes of crockery- compromising slightly the true dramatic effect of a flounced exit, which she made up for by loudly slamming her own door shut.

Stood at his fireplace, Clark waited for and winced at the thump. Then he wiped his hands down his tee shirt, re-hung his glasses on the collar, and continued removing picture frames from the mantelpiece. He was packing away the things that knowingly and unknowingly, he'd left until last. On one of the empty book shelves to his right, on one of the easily-reachable levels, he had a bottle of beer and his shiny new radio for company. Out of the speakers, the Four Tops echoed around the walls of the empty room.

'_From deep inside the pain I chose to hiiide. Just walk away, Renée...'_

But Clark wasn't really listening to the music. He was playing a game with himself. The game was provisionally entitled 'How Not To Miss Lois' and the rules of the game were simple. They involved absorbing oneself in an activity- it didn't really matter what the activity was, although the last couple of weeks had highlighted that the more mindless and tedious, the better- and seeing how long it took for his mind to drift towards her. It was sort of practice- a process of hardening himself up in preparation for the rest of his life.

It had to be said, he was not yet very good at the game.

He was tenderly placing a photograph of the two of them, flat in the middle of a sheet of newspaper when there was another knock against the width of his door jamb. Without bothering with the courtesy of turning round, Clark rolled his eyes. This was getting just a mite ridiculous. What more did she possibly want from him? He had already replaced the disputed mug with a much more impressive- _and more expensive_- version. He was fast approaching the point at which he was just going to fly to back to Smallville, ask his mother to mail order a new one direct from the School giftshop, lob the damn thing at her head, and have done with it.

"Mrs Ramirez, _please_. I cannot keep having this conversation with you." Clark bent over to dig around in the box at his feet. "For the last time, it's _my_ travel mug. Look, I can prove it to you. You can still see where it used to say 'Smallville Crows'."

"Mrs Ramirez is just not gonna let that thing go without a fight, is she?"

In one fluid movement Clark extended to his full height and spun around. At the sight of her, a longing for her, and relief that she was here at all, flooded through him, all at once.

She was stood in his doorway wearing jeans and a buttoned-up light gray cardigan that covered her arms, but her body was still radiating that particular sense of rude health and vitality that people newly back off vacation seem to effortlessly emit to the tired and weary unfortunates around them. The warm blush of the Sun was apparent on every inch of skin that was visible; from the tan on her hands and cheeks, to the shiny, perfectly-manicured set of be-sandaled toes that poked out from underneath her pant legs.

Her hair was tied back in a loose bun, curls falling in their natural glossy waves around her face, and Clark felt his heart swell against his chest because the sight of her was breathtaking to him. Was always breathtaking. But although she was smiling, or at least trying her hardest to, he could see that her eyes were dark and shining, and full of sadness.

She wiggled her fingers in a small shy wave and then tucked them back into the pocket. "Hi."

"Hi." Clark dusted his hands on the back of his own jeans, and turned off the background noise of the radio.

She looked around, taking in the bare walls, the empty shelves. The space where the beat-up couch used to be. A sudden, inexplicable, rush of affection for it threatened the poise she had worked so hard to summon just to come here, and now she found she couldn't look at him.

"All packed?" She asked one corner of his ceiling.

Clark nodded, smiling crookedly, recognizing her courage and not wanting to scare her off. "Getting there." He thumbed backwards. "I came by earlier-"

Lois lifted her chin in acknowledgment. "I just got back, so." She rolled her lips.

Clark found an interesting spot on the floor and fiddled at the waistband of his jeans. "I. I left a letter."

Lois found herself grateful at him for bringing up the issue of the letter- how it allowed this opportunity for her to harden. "Yeah, I saw."

"Did you read it?"

"Nope."

Clark nodded. "You probably haven't had time... unpacking and everything," he shrugged; "...Jet lag."

Lois's gaze was steady. "I saw it, I picked it up, I ripped it into alot of very small pieces, I emptied the pieces into my trash can, covered them in lighter fluid, burned them, and then flushed the ashes down my toilet." Her delivery throughout remained remarkably level. She raised her eyebrows.

Clark rubbed at a line in his palm with a thumb. "Oh, you have had some time to get back into the swing of things, then..."

Pulling on her cardigan sleeves, Lois nodded. "Yeah. A little."

His throat worked, and he looked up. "I didn't know if I was ever going to see you again." It came out half explanation and half accusation.

"Neither did I," she admitted, honestly.

"Where'd you go?"

She one-shouldered a grudging, "Caymans."

He sigh-laughed, "The Caymans?"

Lois nodded in blasé fashion, "Yeah. It was very nice. I walked along the beach. Saw turtles. Went scuba diving. Drank cocktails out of coconuts." She watched him, "Flirted with waiters."

She added that last one in purely out of spite and because she'd been practising saying it the whole plane ride home. And anyway, it was half true; there had been waiters and there had been flirting. It was just more the other way round. Her voice changed, "I guess I didn't much feel like sticking around. Watching you give up on us."

He blinked, which Lois had learned the hard way was basically Clark-speak for 'Okay, that hurt'. "That's not what I'm doing."

"You're wrapping pictures of us up in newspaper, Clark." Despite her best efforts, her bottom lip began to tremble. "I've gotta be honest. Out of all the ways I ever imagined it, and there's been a few, I never thought it would end like this. I mean, it was never going to be good, right? But... frickin' _Bali_..." She exhaled quickly to recover a breath and brushed her eyes with her fingertips, annoyed with herself.

He didn't know what to say. He only knew that he was sorry. "I'm glad that you're here."

"Yeah, well." She wiped her nose with her forearm, "I guess I'm a glutton for punishment." She waited for strength to return to her voice. "So. When do you leave?"

"Tonight."

She nodded. Her face crumpling a little.

"I'm, meeting everyone in the office on Sunday, so." Clark explained.

The office. Lois scraped her front teeth up and over her bottom lip in a Herculean effort not to burst into tears. She blew out her cheeks, "Well, it'll be weird at work without you, that's for sure." She smiled, shaking her head as if the thought had just occurred, "The Daily Planet without Clark Kent;" she swallowed, "I just don't know how Jimmy's going to cope?" She had intended to underline that witticism with carefree laughter, but it came out a sort of snotted hiccup.

Clark was running his fingers along the shelf. He spoke up softly, "Some bumpkin from the sticks will show up; probably wearing glasses, an unflatteringly-tailored suit," he tried to suppress a smile. "A bad haircut."

Lois laughed weakly despite herself.

"He'll develop a huge, and painfully unrequited crush on you, and Jimmy'll befriend him." He raised an eyebrow at her, for her to challenge his version. "It'll be like I never left."

She simply breathed, "I don't think I'm that lucky." Her forehead wrinkled. "What about Superman? What about Perry? What about interviews?"

Clark scratched his neck thinking that Perry might be more understanding about that than they might've first imagined. "Yes, I thought about that. I set up an account." He dropped down and dug around in the box until he found a pen. He clicked the end, and stood back up to write something down on the margin of a page of newsprint. He tore it off and went over to hand it to her.

Lois took it off him and read the familiar line of symbols in confusion. "What's this?"

"I don't know, it's for if you ever... I don't know. You might need a quote, or something. It's password-protected."

She looked up. "You want me to send you an email?"

Clark faltered at the expression on her face. "I-I thought it might be easier."

"Well. Yes. Heaven forbid, we actually have to speak to each other again." The hardness had returned, and it allowed him to harden too.

"You understand why I'm doing this, right?"

"I understand fine." She snapped back. "It doesn't mean I have to agree with it. Or like it." She folded the scrap of paper into her back pocket and folded her arms. "What about everyone else? The city?" She nodded outside. "Metropolis? What if Jimmy thinks it's weird Superman's fallen off the radar, just when you leave town?"

Clark nodded, "I'm going to be back in Metropolis, as often as I can." He corrected himself, "I mean, Superman will." He moved his head. "You know. Keeping an eye on ...things. I guess it'll just be out of normal office hours."

Lois narrowed her eyes in understanding. "Right, sorry I see." She whizzed her finger around in the air to illustrate her point, "You're not staying away from Metropolis, you're just staying away from me."

He blinked again, wounded, but she was right.

She lifted her shoulders, "What if there's an emergency? Inside of office hours? Godzilla rampaging down 57th Street or something? People will expect you to be there?"

"Bruce has offered to cover for me- if he can be here before I can."

Lois frowned. "Batman in Metropolis? Won't that be even weirder?"

"Well, no- it'll still be Superman." Clark wiggled his index finger side to side, "We each keep a spare suit. Occasionally we have to stand in for each other." He shrugged, "Sometimes it can't be helped."

Lois's mind processed this startling nugget of information. Her focus was somewhere in the middle-distance; "You're two of the most brilliant minds that have ever graced the Earth. WayneTech specializes in the kind of cutting edge technology that makes CERN jealous, and the CIA twitchy." Her eyes flicked onto Clark's, "And _that's_ how you've been maintaining a secret identity all these years?" She said it like she couldn't quite believe that she was saying it; "With the old _Switcheroo_?"

Clark explained, "You just have to make sure you stay away from the cameras, avoid close-ups; his utility belt tends to hang off me a little. My mom's always telling him he doesn't eat right." He grinned slowly, "I guess it's the lifestyle, for you."

Lois did not smile at his lame attempt at a joke. She was looking at the floor. "And what does she think about all this? Your mom?"

"She's..." Clark began nodding. "She's um, well, she's." He continued nodding. "She's not actually talking to me right now. But I mean, it doesn't really change things, for her."

"What about the farm? What if she needs you?"

"She's managed pretty well the last ten years or so," Clark said gently. "But, actually, no. I. I did get one of these." He fished something flat and matchbox sized out of his pocket.

Lois failed to keep the note of surprise out of her voice. "A cell phone?"

He leaned in a little, watching her inspecting it; "They're like these little magic talking boxes that allow you to hold private conversations with people and they don't even use wires."

She raised her head at him so that he could feel the full-force of a despairingly-raised eyebrow. "Cute. So. You finally caved, huh?"

"Jimmy says it takes pictures." He scratched his temple. "Um, I thought I could ...if you want, you know, just in case; I thought I could ...give you the number, and-"

She found his eyes. "I think that would be undermining this entire, crappy, enterprise."

"Yeah." Clark agreed, "No. No, I guess you're probably right." He softly scolded himself, "Stupid idea," and tucked the phone away again.

Lois took a deep breath, her shoulders rising and falling. "Seems to me that you've thought of everything?" She shrugged, "You've got it all worked out."

Suddenly it was incredibly important to him to reassure her this was hard for him too. "I'm just trying to remember all the things that I wanted to say to you." He smiled at himself; "Everything I wrote down in that stupid letter."

Lois felt a pang of regret at her Lord of the Flies act of impulsive vengefulness. "Sorry about that."

He waved her away, "No, don't apologize, please. It's kind of embarrassing, really. I had to write, like, fifteen P.P.S's."

She laughed even though she didn't want to. "Didn't you draft it out, first?"

He nodded. "That's why it's embarrassing."

She sighed; "How come we win so many awards, again?"

"The unsung efforts of our Copy Editors, clearly," he grinned.

Lois full-on grinned back. "All the work, and none of the glory."

The conversation jogged something loose in his memory, "Oh, that was one of the P.P.S's."

Lois didn't follow, she was still lost in how easy it was to be with him. The unfairness of it. "What was?"

"I was supposed to pass on a message." He hesitated, "From Louie."

She frowned, "Oh?"

Clark nodded, "Yeah, he just wanted me to tell you that he sent the check off to the Veterans Association for you."

He watched her face whilst her mind joined all the dots. Louie. Check. Veterans Association. Oh! The office pool.

"Oh. Oh yeah. Great." She pushed her hands deep inside her pockets, shying away from the look on Clark's face, "I'll have to tell him thanks."

Thickly, Clark said, "I can't believe you bet on us."

She spoke to her toes, admitting, "Yeah. I feel kind of stupid, now."

He shook his head and breathed, "Please don't." Very softly, he said, "I'm really glad you came."

Lois nodded back very quickly. Without warning, breathing, being stood here, and not crying were too many things to handle, all at the same time. She thumbed backwards, "Well. I'm about five seconds away from getting down on my hands and knees and attaching myself to one of your legs, so, I came-" she made a synchronized pointing gesture with both her hands, "and now I think it's time I went."

She turned to escape.

"No, Lois, wait." Clark's hand out reached out and touched her briefly on the elbow. She looked back at the area of cardigan where their bodies had made contact, and then at him. He took a breath, "Let me take you home, tonight. Please."

Lois whimpered, "Clark." She pulled the sleeves over her hands again. "I don't know. I'm not sure."

"-_Please_."

She made the fatal mistake of lingering on the decision. She should say No. This was bad enough.

He pleaded, "This last time."

She shook her head at herself. "Okay."

Clark relaxed in relief.

"But if I leave snot stains all over the cape, I think it's only fair to point out it's way too late for me to pay for your dry cleaning."

Their eyes met and they laughed throatily, it was a way to fend off the tears.

* * *

Clark decided on the scenic route. They flew upright, slowly and silently, with their arms wrapped around each other's waists, the wind tugging at his cape. He took them past the Emperor Building, and down the length of Fifth Avenue. They flew over the majestic span of Metropolis Bridge, so beautifully suspended in the night sky. They skirted the edge of the city, drifted across the dark nothingness of the water. The evening was clear, not even a suggestion of a mist rolling in off the Atlantic. He held her close as they circled Liberty to come back round over Metropolis once more. He was drawing this out for as long as possible, and he was aware of the futility. But it allowed their bodies to say goodbye.

They were coming past the golden glow of the Planet, almost home, before they said anything to each other. Tenderly Clark nudged her hairline with his nose, his lips brushing against her forehead. "Lois."

She was tucked inside him, her head pressed against his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat. She could have happily stayed like this the rest of her entire life. She replied into his shoulder, mildly annoyed at the interruption, "Yes?"

"There's something I want you to do for me."

Against him, he heard her coolly warn, "If what you're about to say is even _close_ to resembling 'It's about loving someone enough to set them free' or, 'Remembering our time together with a smile,' or any other kind of similarly-themed meaningless platitude;" she paused, "I'm going to knee you in the groin."

He chuckled into her hair. "No, we haven't got to that part yet. Meaningless platitudes are for later."

She sighed defeatedly and crossed her arms over the back of his neck so that she could lean away to look at him. "Go on, then. Hit me with it."

He raised a hand to brush a wind-whipped strand of hair back behind her ear. He studied her face. "I want you to promise me something." His expression was very serious. "I want you to promise me that you're going to be more careful."

Lois rolled her eyes.

He squeezed her against him. "Promise me."

She protested, "Clark, c'mon?"

His eyes darted between hers, "Lois, I mean it."

"I'm always careful."

"Then _promise_ me."

She sighed again, and bobbed her head along to the words, "Of course, I'll... try. I'll do my best to... try, and, ...do, ...That." She lifted her shoulders: "Sure." He looked unimpressed. She shrugged. "What?"

"I want you to say the words."

"Words? What words? I'm not saying any words," she stropped, impatiently.

"I want you to promise me."

"I just did promise you?"

"_Lois_?"

"Clark!" She drew out the vowel sound of his name, and there was an indignant stare-off before she cracked.

Like a teenager blackmailed into good behavior, she huffed. "Fine! I _promise _I'll be more careful. Geez, do you want it in writing, too? Perhaps in the form of a letter signed in my blood?" She tucked herself back under his chin, wrapping her body into his again. "Maybe you'd feel better if I crossed my heart and gave a girl guide finger salute?"

All calmness and victory-smug, Clark assured the top of her head, "Just saying the words is fine."

There was muttering, "Because if you want a finger salute; I can give you a finger salute."

"Finger salutes, of any kind, are not necessary. Thankyou."

His shoulder grouched, "You're welcome."

He waited a moment. "Now, you understand what you've just agreed to?"

Her head snapped up again, "Oh, for crying out loud, Clark-"

His expression wore an uncompromising look. He insisted, "No more near death experiences. I mean it."

Lois protested her innocence. "I don't even know what you're talking about."

"The helicopter? The train tracks? The Egyptian Jewel Thief incident?" Clark regarded her levelly. "That was the first six months; would you like me to continue?"

Lois scowled. "Near death experiences?" She raised an eyebrow; "I thought they were dates."

He chuckled.

She thought for a moment. "And I can't believe you're throwing the Egyptian Jewel Thief at me. I had him right where I wanted him."

"Lois. You were dangling off the third floor fire escape."

She nodded to herself, "I was ...lulling him into a false sense of security."

"I picked him up as he was about to crush your fingers!"

His fretting was shrugged off. Earnestly, she insisted, "That's why it's called 'Teamwork', Clark."

He shook his head at her, smiling. She was impossible. His eyes were all over her face, memorizing it. His smile faded. "I just." He touched her hair. "I need you to be safe."

Cuddling into his shoulder again, she sighed. "I know."

* * *

When they started to descend, her heart sank.

He set them gently down on the balcony outside her French windows.

Lois wiped her hands down her sides and looked around. "Wow. I'm just about to escape inside and spend the night crying into my pillow; you look as though you're afraid touching me might snap me in two," she smiled bravely, "- it's like déjà vu all over again."

He managed a half-smile back. She stepped away a little further, rubbing at the crook of one arm. "So, I guess this is it?" Her voice faltered over the words, "This is goodbye?"

He nodded. She began to nod with him as reality forced its way in and despair threatened to overwhelm her. Her breath hitched, "Will I ever see you again?"

He shook his head. He spoke so quietly his lips barely moved, "Not like this."

She nodded, and tears finally came. They welled along the bottom edge of her eyes until the weight of them pushed tiny droplets down her cheek. A small noise of hurt escaped her as she tried to catch her breath, "I don't think I can do this?"

"Yeah, you can," he breathed.

Her heart ached, but not like usual. It was sharper, and more acute. She pleaded, "I can't."

Carefully, he took her face in his hands and used his thumbs to stroke away the tears. "I believe in you."

"Then don't leave me. Please stay."

His eyes closed. "I can't."

"Why not?"

He spoke her name on a sigh, "Lois."

Her hands went to his, "We'll work something out. Something. Anything. Anything but this. Please."

His shook his head. "You said it yourself- we're going round in circles."

"What's wrong with circles? I like circles?" She frowned, her mind grasping around in desperation, "Circles are important; in geometry ...and, and pi...?"

He smiled, and then grew serious again. She had really come to dread the serious-face. It was a sure-fire sign that he was going to say something hideously sensible.

He lowered their hands, but didn't let go. "Have you thought about the future? I mean really thought about it?"

"Of course," she replied. And it always involved him.

"You have so much ahead of you, Lois." His head dipped. "So much to look forward to."

She watched the line of his jaw tighten. "Children. A family. If I stay, you'll stay too- just the same. Just like this. Trapped. Then one day, you'll wake up. You'll be fifty years old, and life will have passed you by."

She tried to make him understand, "It's not a life if I don't have you?"

"You know that's not true."

She hung her head. "What about you? What about your future? Your life?"

"I'm different, Lois. Being with you makes me forget it, but it's no good- I can't change it." He smiled for her. "It's time I stopped trying."

She felt herself start to go again and breathed in deeply before she spoke. "But who's going to look after you?"

"I'll be fine." He looked at their hands and rubbed his thumbs across the top of her knuckles. "I've still got the farm. I'll always have the Fortress."

Their eyes met. Windows into the souls of so much suffering. She wanted to tell him how much she loved him. How much she was always going to love him. How it didn't matter what he did, or what he said, he could never change that.

In between holding back sobs, she said, "You're my best friend."

He let go of her hands, moved closer, held her face in his hands one last time. "I love you."

She shook her head, gasping for breath, "Please don't. I'm not as strong as you are."

Gently, he lifted her face to anchor her with his eyes, "Look at me. Look at me." He gazed at her in wonder. "You're the strongest person I've ever known."

Her throat moved in a wordless protest. Her eyelashes fluttered closed. She was so utterly beautiful. He leant forward. More than anything in the world he wanted to kiss her, to take her in his arms, to never let her out of his sight.

She felt a breeze on her face. It stilled her heart and chilled the wet rivulets on her cheeks where the tears had fallen, and without opening her eyes she knew he had gone. When she did open them, she felt her legs buckle and give way. Broken, she began to curl in on herself, and she wept. Great wracking sobs that didn't sound like they belonged to her, that made her throat hurt, and the French doors tremble.

"I'm not. Not without you."

* * *

Sexyvoice-man on the recording said, "Hello; 'Tah-shi dee-leh'."

Into the gap, Lucy repeated out loud; "Tah-she delay."

It was a bright Saturday morning and she was in the dining room, in loose-fitting yoga pants and and an old shirt, ironing the dress that Elizabeth wanted to wear tonight. On the chair to her right was a half-full washing basket. On the table to her left were five neatly folded piles of clothes. She was in her element. There was something just inherently satisfying to her about the sight and smell of freshly-pressed laundry.

While she worked, she tried to imitate the accuracy of the pronunciation on her _Tibetan for Beginners_ instruction CD. It was tricky; Tibetan was an incredibly nuanced language.

Sexyvoice-man said, "How are you? 'Khe-rahng ku-su de-bo yin-peh?'

Lucy ran the iron along one of the pleats. "Kerrang coo-soo debo yen-pea?"

The phone rang.

"Oo."

She carefully set the iron upright and zapped the speakers silent with the remote, the movement fooling one of the cats and forcing him into an evasive manoeuvre. In her phone voice, she sing-songed; "Good morning, Lane-Feldman residence? And kerrang coo-soo debo yen-pea, on this fine day?"

The smile on Lucy's face disappeared as her ears strained to a dull series of mumbled throbbing sounds, followed by an incomprehensible snivel down the phone line.

Lucy's brow furrowed. "Lois? Is that you?"

* * *

Clark walked back across the yard with the dog mooching behind.

Inside, in the kitchen, the breakfast things had been cleared away. Martha Kent was stood at the counter chopping carrots. The pace of the chopping was furious.

He hovered in the doorway, watching and wincing at the way shreds of carrot pith flew up as the blade hacked into its hard length. The dog went to his basket, circled inside it three times and settled down. Clark pointed his thumb back towards the barn. "I've put away the last of the stuff that's staying here."

Martha continued slicing carrot.

"I guess I'm going to make a start on the boxes that need to go to Bali."

_Chop-chop-chop_. "Dinner won't be ready for hours."

"Good. Okay. I'll get going, then."

He made it all the way through the kitchen and was a step away from the safety of the lounge before Martha could bear it no longer. She slammed the point of the knife down into the chopping board and turned to fix him with a stare.

"Are you seriously going to go through with this?"

Clark turned and stared back, irritated by the implication that all this had been done on some kind of whim, that he had not thought it through. "Yes. I _seriously_ am."

"And what is it exactly that you're hoping to achieve?"

His eyes narrowed. "Hoping to achieve? It isn't a test, mom."

Martha looked pained. "Tell me what it is, then- because honestly? I have no idea."

He was terse. "It's just something that I have to do. That's what it is."

"But _why_ is it?"

Clark's face was dark. "Look, I don't expect you to be happy. But please try and see things from my side."

She softened. "I am trying. I just don't understand the way you think sometimes."

"How could you?"

She looked shocked and then her expression sharpened. "Is that the way it's going to be from now on?" That she was speaking incredibly quietly indicated how much of a slap in the face that was. She inhaled through her nose. "Because it's a long life for that, Clark. Your father and I are your parents too- and it's _not the way_ we brought you up."

He bowed his head whilst her breathing recovered.

Softly, he said, "Mom. If I stayed, if I didn't leave Metropolis, she'd never move on. Because I'd always be in the background, looming over every personal decision she ever makes. I need to be out of her life."

"Out of her life?" Martha sighed, "Clark- your face is on milk cartons."

They looked at each other. "Superman's face. There's a difference."

Martha didn't think so. Not to Lois. She gazed at her son sadly, "You love her."

"Then what choice do I have?"

She smiled, because the answer was the most obvious thing in the world, "Lois. You can choose Lois. You can choose to be happy."

His throat tightened. "I did choose that! And look what happened?"

Martha shook her head at him, "Why does it have to be one thing or the other?"

Her eyes demanded answers. "Why does having Lois mean giving up Superman?"

"Mom-" he whispered desperately, "what kind of life would it be?" His adam's apple bobbed. "A normal life- I'll never have that. But she can. I can't allow myself to be selfish when she has that chance."

Martha choked out a laugh. "Selfish?"

He had regained his composure. He was steady again. "If I stayed... she'd give up that chance. She'd sacrifice everything for me."

Martha's eyes sparkled. "That's what people do when they love each other, Clark. The whole world over. The whole universe over. You're a child of the stars. Just like the rest of us."

He simply nodded.

"I better go. It's late over there. My new landlord's expecting me."

Resigned, Martha wiped her hands down her apron. "Well, just don't overdo it, okay? There isn't any rush."

He grinned wearily, "That's easy for you to say- you're not the one that's going to be making about thirty return trips across the Pacific Ocean the entire day."

Martha held up her hands. "A lesser person would be saying 'And whose fault is that?' right about now."

His smile was crooked. "And what do you say?"

She crossed the kitchen floor specifically to stand on her tiptoes and take his face between her hands. She reached to kiss the middle of his forehead. "I hope you know what you're doing?"

He whispered, "Me too."

* * *

Breathless, and beginning to sweat, Lucy knocked again but there was still no answer. She grappled with her handbag, rummaging around for the spare key. Before she could locate it, the door made unlocking noises and creaked open. Lucy peered into the gap and let out a little gasp. The curtains were drawn but she could still make out the important details; that it was two in the afternoon and Lois was still in her pajamas. That her hair was a scraggy, uncombed mess, that her eyes were puffy and sore. That she looked terrible.

"Oh, _sweetie_."

Lois staggered forward, burying herself in her sister's open arms. She croaked out "Lucy," and started to cry.

Lucy stroked Lois's hair, rocking her gently, shushing her that it was okay. She squinted into the darkness of the apartment. Lois's comforter was on the couch- it looked like Lois had slept there. Discarded scrunches of white tissue paper littered the floor. In the background she could hear some kind of acoustic guitar music. On the table in front of the television there was a pile of discarded dvds. Only Casablanca had been opened. Lucy sniffed. And there was a faint smell of burning coming from the direction of Lois's bathroom.

"What _happened_?"

Lois was hoarse from crying. Between hitches of breath, she squeaked, "He's gone."

* * *

Outside Lois's building, David and the children were waiting with the car. It was another warm day and so the four of them were stood leaning against the paintwork, feeling the heat through their shorts and thoughtfully licking ice creams. David tapped one foot against the floor. Lucy had been gone a while.

Zach caught a runaway glob of peppermint with his tongue. "Is Aunt Lois okay?"

David ruffled his son's hair. "I'm sure she's fine."

"Maybe we should go see what's going on?" Phoebe held up her teddy bear by one arm. "Maybe I should take her Mister Fluffles?"

David smiled. Elizabeth rolled her eyes. At eight years old, and the eldest by twenty-four important minutes, Elizabeth considered herself the most worldly-wise of her siblings. Phoebe lowered the bear again, feeling small. "He always makes me feel better."

In his pocket, David's cell started to play Minnie Riperton's _Lovin' You_. "It's your mom." He scrabbled for the phone and flipped it open, "Is everything okay?"

Lucy had sneaked out to the hallway. "The situation is worse than we thought." Her eyes darted back into Lois's apartment where she could see her sister sat slumped in front of the television. "We have a Code Red. Repeat; we have a Code Red." She turned away and lowered her voice, "I found her listening to _Joni Mitchell_."

David sucked in air through his teeth. On the other end of the line, Lucy said, "The Blue album." He blew the air back out of his cheeks.

In the background he could hear the runway scene of Casablanca playing out and Lois loudly berating the movie, "She doesn't want to leave him! _Why can't he understand that_?"

David ran his hand over the top of his head. "Oh, heck."

His wife talked and as he listened his eyes fell on three worried faces- four if you counted Mister Fluffles- although ever since Lucy had had to re-stitch an eyebrow back on it was more true he looked permanently puzzled rather than worried.

David nodded. "Okay. No, I think that's a good idea. I'm sure they'll understand."

The phone snapped closed. He looked at the kids. "Mommy's bringing her in."

* * *

Twelve time zones ahead, under a brilliant moon, Clark touched down on his balcony with the bag of food supplies and spare can-opener his mother had sprung on him as a final parting gift. He walked it through the sliding screen doors of his new apartment and without flicking on any lights he set it down on the nook in the kitchenette. He moved back into the main room and stared at the pyramid pile of removal boxes he had created in the center. He dusted off his hands. The apartment was good-sized, and handsome, but it was old- the landlord told him the building was Dutch. He looked around. He was furnitureless except for a rickety-looking rattan chair in the corner and a small mahogany side table that might have been second-hand when the Dutch were first here.

In one of the boxes, the corner of something sharp glinted and caught his eye. It was sticking out the top of one of the containers stacked waist high. Carefully, Clark excavated the object free, felt the coolness and sturdy weight of it in his hands. It was the Perry award. He ran his finger tips over the surface, into the four distinct grooves that had been created outside the Ritz Plaza two weeks ago- when he had squeezed it too tight.

He looked out of the doors, out over his balcony. The thing that always struck him when he was away from Metropolis was the absence of height. He would gaze out of his bedroom in Smallville and miss the thrilling sense of architectural texture he took for granted when he was at home in the city. Here in Denpasar, beyond the black shapes of two triangular rooftops, the view was clear. He could see the ocean.

* * *

An hour after arriving in Metropolis, Lucy and her family were back on the interstate, on the way home.

In the back of the car, Lois was sat behind Zach and Elizabeth, squished in between Phoebe and Lucy. There was a weird-looking bear in her lap. She looked much better, the healthy holiday glow had returned to her cheeks. Lucy had persuaded her to get dressed and while she showered, had fixed her something to eat. While Lois picked over scrambled eggs and toast, Lucy had turned hard-ass and they had argued.

And Lucy had won. Right now, Lois was trying a different approach but her remonstrations were falling on deaf ears.

"This really isn't necessary. I'm fine," she offered unconvincingly as she poked an unused tissue at the blotchy red corners of her eyes. She held it out to them as evidence. "See? I'm all cried out."

Unmoved, Lucy watched the traffic outside fly past the window. "We're not leaving you on your own tonight, and that's the end of it."

Lois huffed and bounced the heel of one fist against her knee. Quietly, she said, "I've already disrupted your weekend enough."

"That's not true." Lucy insisted. "Besides," she flicked at some fluff on her shirt sleeve, "we needed a babysitter so you're doing us a favor." She raised her voice meaningfully, "Right, David? Kids?"

"Oh, you bet, honey!"

"Oh, yeah!"

"We don't even _want_ to go to the carnival this year!"

"Or eat the cotton candy!"

"Or go on the bumper cars!"

"...Or... see the ...cool ...fireworks."

Each successive claim by the children was a little less enthusiastic then the last.

"You know something?" Lois sniffed, "You're all terrible liars."

Lucy patted her sister's knee. "You're welcome, honey."

Lois swallowed away a lump. She dropped her head to slump against Lucy and whispered, "Thankyou."

* * *

Later, as Lois and the kids stood on the doorstep and waved goodbye to their parent's car- and then ran back inside the house to make chocolate volcanoes, on the other side of the world, Sunday morning had already arrived.

The executive editor of the Bali Gazette was meeting Clark for the first time.

"It's good to finally put a face to the name."

"Oh, same here, Mr Donahue."

The office was about one third the size of Perry's. It was dominated by a huge rosewood desk. A gleaming nameplate in front of Clark was impressively engraved: Franklin S. Donahue.

The man in the pink polo shirt behind the desk smiled and demurred, "Please, call me Frank- everybody else does."

Frank explained he had been running the Gazette since he and his wife had arrived here from the States ten years ago. He talked enthusiastically about the paper and its multinational staff. As he spoke, Clark mused that he was a good example of how people sometimes sounded just like their name. Frank was a big, round-shouldered bear of a man, with an open face, and honest, trustworthy eyes. He was not old, at a guess, Clark would have said mid-forties. The neatly side-parted haircut was only just turning grey at the sides.

Frank's big hands shuffled the papers in front of him together."Seems that your previous employer was a big fan. This is all very impressive."

Clark smiled politely. He had not seen the reference Perry had sent.

Frank was nodding at the portfolio. "I can see that we're lucky to have you." His eyes clouded over. Softly, he said, "I wish it was in better circumstances."

Clark's head dipped in sympathy. "I'm very sorry for your loss, sir."

Frank nodded his head. He shook the sadness off and squared Clark up. "Sam was a talented reporter, and a friend. I'm not going to sugarcoat it- you've got some pretty big shoes to fill, Clark."

"I'll do my best."

Frank was impressed with the look of determination on the kid's face- his seriousness. He folded his fingers together on the desk, "Our readers are the expats and the tourists. The circulation's small, but dedicated- they expect certain standards." Frank lifted his thumbs, "As the lead writer, you'll be covering all the big stories; Island politics, boat accidents, ...restaurant openings," There was the tiniest hint of a knowing smile on his lips, "- think you can handle all that?"

Clark smiled in kind, "I'll try not to let you down."

Satisfied, Frank closed the folder, signalling the end of the formalities. "Ever been in the country before?"

Clark hesitated. "Flying visit."

"And you're settling in okay?"

Clark nodded, "I just got the keys to my new place last night."

"Good. And if you need anything-" Frank inclined his head, "my door's always open."

"Thankyou."

"Okay. Well." Frank slapped his palms to his desk and got to his feet. "I think it's time you met the troops-" He leaned in a little, his eyes twinkling, "they're all excited to meet you."

Clark stood up too, and Frank shuffled past behind him to open up the door and lead him out into the newsroom.

In many ways it looked just like the Planet. It was furnished in the same dark wood, and it carried a similar and reassuring feel of organized chaos. The difference was that it had been re-sized on an exceptionally mini scale. Work stations and cubicles didn't repeat themselves into the distance. There were just five desks; two on one side, three on the other, and a central space down the middle of the room- which ended the length of a squash court away. On each desk was a computer screen and phone line, and very little empty space. Notes, tear sheets, printouts were everywhere- stuck on monitors, piled in overflowing in-trays, pinned to the bulletin boards that were evenly spaced between each arched window alcove. The windows were high and had shutters. Large-leafed plants basked on the stone sills. More than in Frank's office, you could tell that the room was housed in a turn of the century, colonial-style building.

Gathered around the nearest desk, waiting for him, were the people that worked here. His new colleagues. A motley line-up of four was gazing at him expectantly, and a little nervously. Clark was suddenly aware of the irony, that, for once, he had not been cast in the role of a rube. He was fresh out of Metropolis. Neatly turned out in his shirt and tie. To them; he was a city slicker.

Frank gestured to the first in line, a shaggy-haired blonde woman with rosy cheeks and a cheerful smile. "Mr Kent, may I introduce you to my deputy-editor; Sandy."

Sandy took his hand in both of hers and shook it warmly. "You know, like Grease!" Clark took a second to decode the lady's oxymoron.

"Right!"

"She's also my secretary." Frank beamed, "And my wife."

Looking again, Clark saw that Sandy was indeed the same woman that had been on the reception desk at the top of the stairs when he came in.

"And hiding behind my wife's legs- that's our daughter, Rebecca." A little fair-haired girl that Clark had not noticed peered into view, gave a cautious little wave, and then retreated again. "She's nine."

Frank moved along the line to two youngish-looking guys that Clark guessed were more likely locals than expats like Frank and Sandy. "These two reprobates are Eko and Henry. They're the feature writers." Frank grinned proudly, "Their English is better than mine."

Henry winked. "Howdy."

Frank explained, "Big movie fan. Especially the cowboy stuff. He's been looking forward to talking to you."

Henry's eyes gleamed, "Is it true you're from the American West?"

Clark hesitated, not wanting to disappoint so early in his tenure. His head bobbed, "Uh. Midwest, really."

Henry disguised it well, but deflated a little. Frank moved quickly on, "And last but never least, our photographer; Howard. He's from the Australian West!" Frank added, in a sweet attempt to cheer up Henry.

Howard was tall and willowy, with dark, serious eyes. He was not wearing a bow tie. Just a very tight smile.

Frank clasped his hands together at Clark, "And that's everybody! Our happy band."

Taking that as his cue, Clark stepped forward. "Well," he nodded, "Thankyou for coming in this morning. It's really good to meet you."

Everyone looked relieved. Except Howard.

"I wish I could say the same, but that would be a lie."

Clark's enthusiasm faded in the face of such brutal honesty. "Oh." He smiled politely, "Okay."

Frank looked disappointed, "Howie, c'mon." He turned to explain to Clark, "Sam and Howard. They were, kind of involved."

Suddenly Clark felt very stupid. Without really thinking about it, he had just assumed that Sam was a guy.

"I just think it stinks, that's all. It's been two weeks. It's like we're all moving on and Sam never existed."

"_Two weeks_, Howie. You know as well as I do. We can't keep pretending."

Howard's throat tightened, "They've not even found a body, Frank!"

Frank spoke softly, but calmly, and without emotion. "And until they do- we need someone."

"And what if Sam makes it back? Walks in here first thing tomorrow morning?"

Frank held Howard with his eyes. "Then we'll be waiting."

"With what?" Howard pointed, "A stranger sat at that desk?"

Clark blushed, feeling that his presence was an intrusion on grief that was still obviously raw.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. I'm sure Mr Kent will understand if we have to let him go." Whilst Howard's head was hanging, Frank helplessly mouthed to Clark, 'Sorry.'

Clark waved him away, mouthing back, 'It's okay.'

Howard recovered his poise. "Well, if the welcome party's over- I have things to do."

Clark stepped forward, stopping him. "Howard." He looked down the line. "All of you. I just wanted to say, obviously I never knew Sam." He paused. "And I guess there's a chance I never will." Howard listened. Eko and Henry bowed their heads. Sandy wiped a quick tear away. Frank had only known Clark twenty minutes but he was already impressed with his guts. "But I know what it's like to deal with loss," Clark's eyebrows knitted. "How hard it is." He swept along their faces with his eyes. "I'm going to work hard and do a good job for you." His gaze settled on Howard's. "And I'm not here to replace Sam." He swallowed, "I only hope I can do justice to her memory."

There was a kind of synchronized cringing in the room. Howard darted out towards the staircase. Bemused, Clark watched him go. No-one else moved. Into the silence, the ceiling fan hummed, Henry scuffed one heel of a snakeskin boot, Rebecca played with her plait. Frank cleared his throat, "_His_ memory."

Clark blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Sam." Frank fidgeted and then winced. "Short for Samuel."

"Oh, I-I thought- but then-?" Clark closed his eyes- suddenly nostalgic for an overspilling bottle of soda pop. "Oh dear."

Frank nodded. "Don't worry about it, son. He's a good guy, he'll come round." He slapped a supportive hand between Clark's shoulder blades. "I'm sure you're going to fit right in."

Clark nodded weakly. Frank gestured out to the room.

"Welcome to the Gazette."

* * *

In the Lane-Feldman household, it was still Saturday night. The kitchen was now clean, and the children were washed and bathed and dressed in their pajamas. Lois was reading them a story.

They were all sat on Phoebe's bed, crossways, with their backs against the wall. Lois's feet dangled off the edge. The twins were either side of her, one snuggled up to each shoulder. Phoebe herself was tucked into Lois's lap, with Lois holding the book out in front of them. The girls' faces were rapt. Zach's was very much not.

With great solemnity, Lois read the lines of the last page on a whisper, "And they all lived... happily... ever ...after."

She closed the book.

Phoebe hugged Mister Fluffles, "I love the part when he kisses her!"

Elizabeth hugged herself, "It's so romantic!"

Zach hugged no-one, and grumped, "It's so stupid."

Lois checked her watch, "It's so way past your bedtime." She clapped her hands, "Alright, you two. Time to get you tucked up in your own beds." Shuffling forward to plant her feet, she put the book to one side and scooped Phoebe high into the air, popping her back down again the right way round on her covers.

Elizabeth hopped down while Zach crawled off the side of the bed army-style. "Next time, _I_ get to choose the story."

Lois ushered the twins towards the door. In front of her Zach shadow-duelled with an invisible enemy, "There'll be fighting, and swords, and blood and guts flying all over the place. And definitely _no_ kissing."

Lois smiled at him. "Sounds delightful."

Out in the light of the landing, as Zach and Elizabeth turned to head in opposite directions, something caught Lois's eye. "Wait a second." From behind him, she reached out and put her hand on the top of Zach's head, rotating him back round to face her. She took a good look at his chin. "Is that...? Zach; have you still got chocolate sauce on your face?"

Zach frowned, "Um..." He stuck his tongue out to test. "Mmm!"

"Children!" Lois implored. She pinched the fingers of her hands together and moved them in the air, "Have I taught you _noth-ing_? What am I always telling you?"

Zach squinted up at her thoughtfully, "Finders keepers, losers weepers?"

She scowled. "Noo, not that; the other thing- to do with your parents?"

Elizabeth considered it. "'Whatever you do, don't tell your mother'?"

Lois blinked. "The other thing."

"Oh, I know!" Zach's hand went up, "The one about imcrim-ner ...incrimineration ...criminerating..."

"The one about incriminating yourself!" Elizabeth finished, proudly.

Lois nodded sagely, repeating, "The one about incriminating yourself." One hand slapped into the palm of the other with the meter of her words; "You must get rid of the evidence." She held her arm out straight, pointing Zach down the hall; "Bathroom, face cloth, _now_."

"But Aunt Lois, I already did!"

She bent over to kiss his hair, "I know you did, shortstuff. But this time, remember that it helps to bring your skin into actual physical contact with soap and water." She gently shoved him off.

"Aunt Lois?"

Lois looked back into Phoebe's room. "Yes, sweetie?"

"Can you say goodnight to Mister Fluffles?"

Lois padded over and bent down. "Goodnight to Mister Fluffles." Taking great care she kissed the bear on his furry forehead, and then did the same thing to Phoebe. They looked at each other. Although Lois was smiling, Phoebe's forehead creased.

She whispered, "Are you alright?"

Lois carefully took a seat on the bed, leaning her weight on her arm. She seemed to consider the question. With a very grave expression she whispered back, "No." Then she wiggled one side of her body; "I'm about half left."

Lois grinned. Two brown eyes gazed back at her steadily. There was a weary, indulgent sigh at the adult. "I mean, are you okay?"

Lois thought hard and answered truthfully. "I'm okay."

Phoebe was not sure. Still talking in whispers, she asked, "The man from work, the one that's made you sad. You really like him, don't you?"

Again, Lois took her time. "Yes."

"Do you love him?"

Lois blinked. "Yes."

"More than Superman?"

There was a little laugh. Lois picked something off her leg. "It's... kind of a close-run thing."

Phoebe chewed her lip. "Did he ever kiss you?"

Lois tucked a piece of hair out of her face, "The man from work?"

Phoebe nodded.

Lois sighed out of her nose, smiling. "Yes, he did."

Her niece's eyes were shining. "Was it romantic?"

Lois's smile was touched by sadness, but it widened. "Yes, it was." An eyebrow raised mischievously, her eyes danced. "Extremely."

"Do you think you'll ever kiss him again?"

Lois's eyes fell. "I... I don't know." She looked back up. "Probably not."

A look of concern crossed Phoebe's face. "But what if he's your Prince?"

Lois sighed. "You know, Phoebe." She wondered how to phrase this. "Sometimes life doesn't work out the way you think it should. Sometimes, it's not a fairytale." Her shoulders shrugged, "I wish it was."

"Okay." Although Phoebe seemed to accept that, she was still frowning in thought. "But I don't think it was very sensible of him not to marry you."

The sparkle returned to Lois's eyes. "Oh?"

Phoebe and her six and a half years of life experience were assured in their judgment. "No."

Lois's head cocked out of interest. "And why's that?"

"Well, there are alot of other Princes out there. And some of them will probably want to make you their Princess," Phoebe informed her aunt wisely.

"Well," Lois slapped the top of her thigh gently, "that's encouraging to hear."

"I think Mr Benchley would like to make you his Princess."

Lois chuckled. "That's very sweet. Tell Mister Benchley thankyou very much." Taking an educated guess, Lois addressed the nearest teddy bear that wasn't Mr Fluffles, poking him on the nose, "I'm flattered."

Phoebe watched in amusement. "No, silly, _that'_s not Mr Benchley."

"Oh, I beg your pardon, sir," Lois apologized. She glanced around for the next likely candidate, of which it had to be said, there were a few. The blank faces on a crowd of stuffed toys stared unhelpfully back. "Which one's Mister Benchley?"

"He's not a _bear_! He's my teacher."

"Oh." Lois blinked. And then she frowned. "Your teacher?"

Phoebe's open face nodded enthusiastically, "When you spoke at my school, I heard him whisper to Mr Matherson that you were hot."

Lois squinted. "Your teacher said that?"

"Yes."

"To another teacher?"

"Yes."

"In front of students."

Now that Aunt Lois was paying so much attention to her relaying of events, Phoebe sensed it was only fair to represent them as accurately, and with as much pertinent detail, as possible. "He whispered it."

Having discovered he was not a toy bear, Lois found herself feeling less amenable towards 'Mister' Benchley. "Well, sweetheart. That's... kind of creepy and inappropriate. I don't want you to tell Mr Benchley 'thankyou'." She stopped. "In fact, I don't want you to mention this conversation to Mr Benchley." She thought about it, "In fact, I think I'd like a word with Mr Benchley myself."

There was a brief pause. "Well, maybe another Prince, then."

Lois gazed at her knees. "...Maybe," she allowed.

Feeling the opportunity to reap the benefits of being related to a member of faculty slipping away, Phoebe chanced, "It would be kind of cool though- you could sneak out our homework answers!"

Lois thought it best to scythe the glorious dream away without mercy. "I'm not going to marry Mr Benchley, honey."

The fire dimmed. "Okay."

Lois leaned over to touch her nose to her niece's. She whispered "Goodnight," and got up to leave.

"Aunt Lois?"

Lois checked back, "Yes?"

"Are you sure you're alright?"

In the darkness, Lois smiled. "I'm fine. I'll be fine." Through the comforter she tweaked Phoebe's toe. "It's late. Go to sleep."

She got to the door.

"Aunt Lois?"

She turned back again, "Yes?"

"About the man from work?"

"Yes?"

Phoebe paused. "Maybe he is your Prince. Except you just haven't got to the ending of the fairytale yet?"

Because she was stood framed against the yellow light of the doorway, Phoebe couldn't see Lois's face.

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

"Aunt Lois?"

Lois looked up to the ceiling, "Holy moly, Phoebe, and for the last time; 'Yes'."

The little girl giggled. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Lois swayed in the doorway. "I have to go say goodnight to your sister and perform a quality-control check on your brother's face."

"Okay."

"Now go to sleep!"

"Okay."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Lois waited just in case, then pulled the door softly behind her, leaving a gap of light for Phoebe of about two inches. From here Lois could look out of the window at the top of the stairs. Outside, above the neighborhood, fireworks intermittently popped and lit up the sky, explosions that bloomed; red, yellow, blue. Their reflections were caught in the tears on her cheeks.


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hi everyone. Just to give you the long view of where we're up to now- I've structured out the remaining plot points of this story and by my reckoning there will be another longish chapter (...probably), and then a mittel-length chapter (...possibly), and then a couple of short set-piecey things- more like chapterettes ...Although don't hold me to this. And then we'll be done! Hooray! **

**As for this latest installment, as ever, I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

**Six months later**

"So the Pope goes back to the Vatican, and he says to the Cardinals; 'Well guys, there's good news and bad news.'" The engineer paused on a rung so he could take a breath and finish the joke. A narrow V of yellow light from his hard hat picked out the harness rope as it disappeared into the abyss above. "The good news is that we are to receive one hundred million dollars. The bad news is that we've lost the ReadiBread account.'"

He resumed his progress down the ladder. Over his two-way, there was low, throaty, laughter. Mac repeated, "_ReadiBread._"

Smiling, the engineer shrugged. "It was in an email."

The metallic clang-clang of his boots reverberated around the shaft until he reached the end of the ladder and stepped carefully onto the roof of an elevator car. He tugged the harness. "Okay, I'm here."

Over the radio Mac failed to stifle a yawn. "_See anything_?"

From a side pocket he took another flashlight and directed it at the center structure of the elevator. "Yeah. Something's caught up in the sheave, alright."

"_Man, I hate it when you say that._"

Squinting, the engineer knelt closer to get a better look at whatever it was and poked it around to test its resistance.

"No," he said. "It's a piece of rag or cloth or something."

--

Other than the Audi, the street was deserted. They were parked in their customary spot, down an alleyway away from the lights of the sidewalk, but with an unobscured view of the LexCorp building. There was no moon, and it was too cold to snow. Inside the car, Lois sat at the steering wheel looking out. A knitted hat was pulled tight over her head so that ringlets of hair spilled out and bunched around her shoulders, a scarf covered her chin and mouth. Worn in combination they created a small rectangle of face comprising her eyes, her cheeks and the tip of her nose. It was the only area of her body currently exposed to the air. The same thing could not be said of Jimmy. He was kneeling facing the wrong way in the passenger seat, reaching to retrieve a dropped keychain from the back of the car. Directly level with Lois's eyeline was a widening width of pale skin between the bottom hem of Jimmy's puffer jacket and the top elastic banding of his underpants- which, Lois couldn't help but note at such close proximity, were Calvin Kleins.

She untucked her chin from the scarf and without glancing that way addressed the back pockets of his jeans. "Can you see it?"

There was the sound of straining- the telltale grunting and noises of effort produced when your head is unnaturally lower than the rest of your body. Jimmy's muffled voice came back, "No. I think it must've fallen directly underneath the seat. Damn."

Beside Lois's face, Jimmy's butt wiggled around a bit more. "Wait a second."

"Got it?"

There was more ass wriggling. "No-" Jimmy flipped back into the seat, flushed but grinning. He sang, "But look what I found." Like a stage magician he flourished a very thin, tabloid-sized cardboard box. It was the advent calendar.

"Ooo!" Lois clapped her mittens together with the kind of unironic and disproportional joy easily mustered at times of prolonged sensory deprivation. "Where was it?"

"Underneath a pizza box."

"How many?"

Jimmy angled the calendar in order to catch some light and perform a quick inventory. "Four days."

They removed their gloves. Jimmy picked open two perforated doorways and popped out the little slabs of chocolate into Lois's cupped hands. She inspected them.

"A holly sprig and a snowman." There was a deep cracking sound. "Mmmm; chocoliciously satisfying."

Jimmy pressed out another two days to bring the calendar back up to date. Around a mouthful of candy, Lois asked Jimmy what he got. Balancing them in the middle of his palm, Jimmy read the tiny relief images like runes, "Um, a stocking. Aaand..." He squinted, "I'm not sure." He tilted his palm, "It looks like... some kind of weird, pointy, triangle... with a hat?" With a finger he rotated the second candy 180 degrees. "Oh, no; it's a Christmas tree." He popped it into his mouth.

Lois ran her tongue along the outside of her teeth and pulled her gloves back on. "Okay. Where were we?"

Jimmy leant forward to pick up the notepad and pen from his footwell. "Richard Attenborough, Tom Hanks."

"Hmmm." Lois's eyes thinned to slits as her fingers drummed against the wheel. Suddenly she held up her hands and there was a mitten-muffled click of her fingers. "Richard Attenborough was in Jurassic Park with Jeff Goldblum. Jeff Goldblum was in Independence Day with Bill Pullman. Bill Pullman starred with Tom Hanks in Sleepless in Seattle, AND," both fingers pointed upwards like she was awarding herself a field goal, "A League of Their Own."

Jimmy had to give her her props. "Not bad."

With a slight upturn of her mouth and a little head-tweak, Lois returned a modest 'eyethankyoo' of appreciation.

Jimmy notched the score. "Your turn. Give it to me."

"Okay. Ummm. Tom Hanks to..." Lois's mind cast around. "Tim Allen." Without looking at Jimmy, she added, "Santa Claus, 'The Santa Claus'."

Without hesitation Jimmy replied, "Toy Story."

Lois chucked her cheek in disappointment with herself. "Walked into that one."

Jimmy marked their scores level again. "Okay," he tapped the pen against his chin in thought, "Let's see if we can't make this interesting. Separate the men from the boyz."

One of Lois's eyebrows raised in amusement.

"Tim Allen to... Jim Varney."

"Jim Varney?"

Jimmy's eyes twinkled, "Ernest P Worrell in such seminal motion pictures as 'Ernest Goes to Camp', 'Ernest Goes to Splash Mountain', _and_;" Jimmy held up a finger looking very smug, "Ernest Saves Christmas."

"Oh Jimmy." Lois slowly shook her head. "Jimmy Jim, Jim, Jim, Jimmy." She looked over at him sadly. "Jimmy."

Jimmy was magnanimous. "There's no shame in admitting defeat at this point."

"Admitting defeat?" The tone of her voice let Jimmy know he was possibly in trouble. "This? Right here?" Lois moved a stubby mitten finger around in the air between them, "Is what is known as the hunter becoming _the hunted_."

Jimmy's eyes narrowed.

Lois went on, "I _think_ you'll find that not only does Toy Story boast the considerable vocal talents of one Mr Tom Hanks and one Mr Tim Allen, but it also stars none other, than Mr Jim. Varney," she finished with a dramatic flourish.

"No way."

Lois nodded once. "Voicing the Slinky Dog."

Jimmy marked the notepad- "Damn."

She pressed her hands to her chest, "I babysit young children. I know my animated feature films. It's like I always told Clark;"

She stopped short and Jimmy looked down to doodle swirls on the notepad when it became clear she was not going to finish the sentence.

When she spoke again her voice was lighter. "Do you know what we should do?"

Jimmy looked up to find her staring out the windshield. "What?"

"We should hold a Slinky race from the top floor of the Planet."

Her expression was perfectly serious. Jimmy smiled at her. "Should we?"

"Yeah, it'd be fun, don't you think?"

Jimmy thought about it. The smile on his face faded. "How would the Slinkies make it round each stairwell?"

"Oh yeah." Momentarily stumped, Lois's forehead joined Jimmy's in a crease while she considered the practicalities. "Unless..." Her eyes cleared and her forehead unwrinkled; "We made each set of stairs a stage. You know, like a time trial? And then we totted up the stage wins to find an overall champion."

"Like the Tour de France!"

Lois nodded. "Exactly."

"We could organize teams?"

Lois raised her eyebrows but nodded again- pleased that Jimmy was running with it. "We could."

"We could have, like, a yellow jersey!"

Lois's face scrunched.

"Too far?"

She looked over. "Little bit."

Jimmy nodded out towards the skyscraper opposite them. "How many flights of stairs do you think are in there, Miss Lane?"

Lois blew out a breath as her eyes tracked the height of the building. It was tall, one of the tallest buildings in Metropolis. Taller than the Planet, and she said so. "I don't know. Eighty," she shrugged, "ninety maybe?"

There were no office lights on, it was a glass and steel block of darkness and had been for the last two weeks, ever since they had started watching it. Together they stared at it. Whatever else you could say about it, it was impressive.

"Do you think anyone's in there right now?"

Lois took her time answering. Slowly, she said, "It pains me to say this? But I think there's about as much chance of someone being in there right now as there is of Jim Varney backflipping out the doors in a Santa's Little Helper costume- with little bells on the toes of his pixie boots- and leading Tom Hanks, Tim Allen, Sir Richard Attenborough, the entire cast of Toy Story and a troupe of Christmas Elves in a rendition of 'Happy Birthday To You'."

Jimmy smiled. "So, are you excited for tomorrow?"

"I'm so excited, I'm numb." Lois gave a little nod to herself; "Either that, or the hypothermia is finally starting to take hold."

"I can't feel my toes."

"Me neither."

"Shall we call it a night?"

Lois turned on the ignition. "Let's get out of here."

--

She dropped Jimmy off at home before heading back downtown, back towards the Planet. She hadn't been in since Friday and she wanted to check her messages and leave an update on the surveillance for Perry. Riding up the elevator she stretched her neck to one side to ease the stiffness and began to enjoy the sensation of warmth returning to her extremities. Loosening the scarf, she pulled off her gloves and her hat, and ran her fingers through her hair, using her reflection to rectify the most heinous excesses of hat head. Her reflection looked back. It looked tired. She wasn't really sleeping properly and there was the evidence- in the dulled blankness of her eyes.

If she was going to avoid another pep talk from Lucy it was clear that she was going to need to put in some effort. In her head, she made a note to book a hair appointment for first thing Saturday. She scratched her chin. What was the name of the guy she saw last time? It was an odd name; Nico-J, or Georgie-Nic, or JayJay-George or something. She'd have to check her planner- she was sure she had his card somewhere. Whatever his name was, it was definitely short, and it definitely involved a hyphen, and Lois definitely questioned whether it was the name he used on his tax returns. The doors dinged open as her mind worked. She strode out of the elevator; straight into the arms of someone coming the opposite way. The collision knocked the stack of boxes out of the other person's hands and sent his papers and files tumbling.

Richard said, "Whoa, hey, whoops! Sorry!"

They both bent down to their knees. Lois tucked the curtain of hair that fell across her face back behind her ear as she apologized, "No, no, it was my fault." They scrabbled around on the floor picking up loose leaves of paper. "Here, let me get this."

"No. It's okay, I got it."

"I wasn't looking where I was going."

"I was miles away."

Together they began replacing the files back into their correct boxes. As their hands worked Richard glanced up quickly and then away again. "I wasn't expecting to see you, tonight."

"No, we finished early." Lois shooshed together the paperwork she had gathered and handed over a tidy pile. Richard placed the pile in the last open box, refitted the lid and re-stacked the boxes to pick them up again. They both got to their feet.

"Early." Richard was smiling at her with raised eyebrows. "Right."

Lois bobbed her head and conceded, "Early-er." Her shoulder lifted, "You know."

"Well, it's good to see you anyway."

Lois smiled politely.

Richard rotated from the hip to nod back into the empty newsroom. "I left you a card." ...and a present.

"Oh. You shouldn't have, really," Lois said, sincerely. "Thankyou."

"You have quite a little pile, there."

Lois looked past him into the office and located her desk. On it she could make out a stack of white envelopes, along with one or two of those string-handle gift bags people put presents and bottles of wine in. "Yeah."

"So. Anything special planned?"

"For tomorrow?" She nodded seriously, "I think Jimmy's going to make me wear a button." She smiled, adding, "And I'm taking along a hip flask for the late-shift coffee run."

Richard smiled back and then looked at his shoes. "I can't tempt you into a birthday drink then?"

Lois lifted her shoulders in apology.

"You're going to spend the entire day on a stakeout?"

She rubbed her finger just underneath one eye. "It's not a stakeout, exactly."

Richard stared at her. "You're not going to celebrate at all?"

Lois's eyes darted sideways. "I already said about the hip flask, right?"

Richard's eyes rolled. Lois qualified, "My sister's coming over Saturday. I'm being treated to lunch."

His head nodded slowly. "What about Saturday night?"

The note of interest in Richard's voice was unmistakable. Lois was simultaneously wary and intrigued. "What about it?"

Richard hitched the files in his hands to get a better grip. "Well. It's just that, if you're free in the evening, the Royal Philharmonic is in town, and I've got these seats for the evening performance. They're doing Messiah..."

Comprehension settled delicately over Lois. "You know, Richard," she began. "It's just a really busy weekend."

Her eyes met his and Richard felt a moment slip away.

"I understand."

Immediately she felt bad. "And it's not that... Because, obviously, Messiah. Sounds amazing... it's just, more that-"

Richard dipped his head. "Lois. You don't need to explain yourself. I-"

"Lois." Perry sounded surprised. He was outside his office, one arm inside the doorway flicking off his lightswitch, the other was holding his trenchcoat and briefcase. He called across the room. "What are you doing here?"

Lois waved. "Hey, Chief. We knocked off early."

"Anything?"

She shook her head. "I think it's all a lie. I don't think anyone's bought that building. I think someone just enjoys the spectacle of two schlumps sat outside freezing their asses off every day."

Perry considered this. "Going back tomorrow?"

"Oh yeah," she chimed without hesitation. She lifted her chin, "What are you doing here?"

Perry did not answer immediately but instead glanced back into the darkness of his office with pursed lips. And then he looked at Lois again. "Have you got a minute?"

"Sure."

Lois turned to Richard and was treated to a warm smile. He said, "Another time."

**--**

Perry closed the door behind her. She flopped unceremoniously into one chair, while he shuffled round his desk to sit down."That kid thinks he's going to marry you, you know."

Alarmed, Lois straightened in the chair. Her eyebrows knotted. "Why, what's he said?"

"He hasn't said anything. I can just tell."

She relaxed again. "It's nothing. It's a stupid crush."

Perry muttered to himself, "I've heard that from you before."

Lois's expression soured. "That. Was different."

Perry acknowledged this with a vague waving of a palm. "Just don't break his heart all at once."

Lois was not in the mood. She bristled, offended both by Perry's flippancy and such an offhanded slight of her professionalism. "I _don't_ _want_ anything to do with him _or_ his heart."

Perry motioned with both hands this time. "I know."

She stabbed a finger in the direction of the newsroom. "_He's_ the one shoving drinks in my face."

Perry took a moment to separate the literal from the figurative. "I know."

Lois was scowling. Perry was wishing he had not brought this up.

"Is this why you wanted to see me?"

"No, I'm sorry."

"Because if it is, and if it's all the same, can we have this conversation tomorrow? Would that be okay?"

Perry looked up. "No, it's not why I wanted to see you," he sighed.

"It's just that it's kind of late to fully appreciate you being this unfairly condescending. I'll come in early, especially. You can have fun making me feel this tall, then."

Perry remained patient and implacable. He looked at his hands and then at her. "Are you done?"

Lois held herself in position for a moment and then allowed the tension to leave her body. Her eyes softened and she shook her head quickly as if annoyed with herself. "It's been a long day." Her legs re-crossed in front of her and she pressed her hands into her lap, signalling her intention to start over- take this from the top; "You wanted to see me?"

Now that she was no longer in attack-mode, Perry was able to read Lois more clearly and he realized that it had been a long time since he had seen her looking so weary. Her face was pale and her eyes were dark. He hesitated. Maybe he should wait until tomorrow afterall? No, he thought. It was better to do this now. His fingers laced together in front of him. "I just got off the phone with a friend of mine. He's a big shot on the Hill."

Lois's right eyebrow raised. "Oh, yeah?"

"He just wanted to give me a heads up."

Her hands were splayed on her scarf, straightening it out and smoothing the creases. "Sounds ominous."

Perry's lips pursed again. "The office of the Attorney General will announce tomorrow morning that Lex Luthor is going to stand trial, in Washington."

Lois's fingers stopped what they were doing. "Good."

"There's no word on start dates," Perry's thumbs lifted from the desk, "but he's all lawyered up. We're talking months." He hunched his shoulders. "Sometime next year, maybe."

"Okay."

Keeping his eyes on her, Perry said, "It's likely that Superman will be called as a witness."

"That makes sense."

He watched her. "A big story."

She met his gaze. "Huge."

Perry rocked back in his chair. "In an ideal world, I'd like my best reporter to cover it."

Lois swallowed. Well, somehow she'd avoided it this long. This scenario was bound to come up eventually. In preparation she had worked up a little speech which covered the pertinent facts; it'll be tricky to get Superman's side on this, Chief- seeing as how we're not really on speaking terms anymore, and to be honest the plan is we never will be again. The speech omitted the part where there was no way of knowing what she would do the next time she was face to face with Clark- and that it was in fact this that scared her the most.

She blew out between a small gap in her lips before taking a deep breath: "Perry,"

"-But I'm not going to ask you to."

The wind now gone from her sails, Lois wilted, and found herself slightly disappointed. "Oh."

Perry leaned forward again. "For two reasons." He stuck out a thumb, "One; you're my city beat reporter. I want you in the city." He stuck out his finger, "And two," this time he was the one who paused to take a moment, "it's likely that you'll be called as a witness, also."

"Oh."

His shoulders hitched. "As much as these things can be, you know. Worked out in advance."

"Yeah."

"It's unlikely that you'll bump into each other. You and he. Superman."

Lois was really not sure what to say or how best to respond to that information, but she could feel herself blushing. "Right."

"Anyway, like I said, it won't be for a while yet," Perry said softly. "I just wanted to let you know."

"Yes. No. Thankyou." She uncrossed her legs and got up to leave. She just wanted to go home now. "Was there anything else?"

Perry was looking at his desk. "Yes."

"Oh." Gently, Lois sat back down, perching herself on the edge of the chair.

"You know we've had maintenance crews in all week?"

Lois shook her head. A little bit more wary of this conversation second time round, she said, "I guess I'll take your word for it."

"A couple of guys came to see me this morning. They were running inspections on the elevators last night. Something's been gumming up the cables on car number three."

"Okay."

"Turns out it was a shirt. A man's white shirt. Quite a big guy as well, judging from the collar. What was left of it."

Perry was looking at her and again Lois found herself at a loss, not sure what was expected of her. She remained pokerfaced. "Oh?"

"They checked out the whole shaft, cleaned out the bottom level. Found some more items of clothing." Perry opened his desk drawer. "No name anywhere. But they found this."

He slid across a laminated card with a clip. It simply said PRESS and was a pretty standard access pass for press calls, media junkets, photo ops- that kind of thing. Any number of planet staffers were issued with them every day. "They figured he was one of mine, and so they brought this to me." Now Perry bent down to pick something off the floor beside him. Lois watched him set down a white plastic garbage bag on the desk in front of her.

"What is it?" Her mouth was dry.

"A matching button-down vest and trousers, a red and black striped tie, and a black lace-up leather shoe. Size fourteen."

Lois laughed huskily. "The things that people will misplace, huh?"

"Yes." Perry agreed delicately. "They um, also found these." This time he fished something out of his inside pocket. He reached over, placed it alongside the press pass. It was a pair of horn-rimmed glasses.

At first she only looked at them. Then she picked them up. The pads of her thumbs brushed gently along the shape of the frame. She gestured with the glasses towards the pile of clothes. "Must have fallen out of his gym bag."

They both knew that Clark had never ever carried a gym bag. "That's what I thought too."

Perry watched her with the glasses and felt like a jerk. Perhaps he had misjudged this? "I thought you might- I thought I'd give them to you. But. I can take care of them if you like?"

She seemed to snap out of it. "No, no. I'll take them. I'll take care of it. Thankyou." She pocketed the glasses and reached for the bag. "Was there anything else?"

"No. Just keep me up to date with everything."

Lois nodded briskly. "Can I go?"

"Yeah, of course."

She managed a small smile. "Goodnight."

Perry's heart ached for her. "Goodnight."

She left. Perry watched her through the glass. He glanced to his right, to the set of clocks on the opposite wall. On the clock labelled 'Metropolis' the minute hand had just nudged past the twelve numeral.

"Happy Birthday."

**--**

It was gorgeous outside. High nineties and low humidity the weatherman said, and he was right. The ceiling fan was running, and the window was open on its hinge. If there was one thing Frank had learned since being here, it was that the holiday season in Bali was not often of the greetings-card-scene variety. His daughter had never seen snow and the closest she was going to get to a white Christmas this year would once again be the palm-fringed beaches of the eastern side of the island. Outside, one wouldn't necessarily even know it was the week before Christmas except souvenir stands now included little wooden nativity figurines in their range, and you were sometimes served your drinks order by bar staff wearing Santa hats.

The Donahues themselves liked to celebrate Christmas in their own uniquely acclimatized way. The greetings cards they sent out wished people a happy holiday but were written in Balinese, and the office decorations combined holly wreaths and tinsel with the fairy lights and candleplaces left over from Diwali. And in the corner of the newsroom there was a Christmas tree.

To compliment the prevailing Indo/Anglo theme Frank was sat at his desk eating out of a tupperware carton containing rice and duck- with a side of cranberry. His wife was peering through the small gap in the blinds she had created with her fingers.

She was frowning. "Would you look at them? Work, work, work. It's not healthy."

The staff were on their lunchbreak, the office was empty. Except for the usual suspects. Howard was in his dark room- Sandy could see that the red light was on. Clark was hunched over his keyboard typing furiously. It was an image everyone was used to- the smartly dressed young man bent to his task and oblivious of any distraction. Even the weather didn't slow him down. As usual he looked crisp and sharp in a shirt and tie, the collar buttoned right to the top. The only concession he ever made to the temperature were his roster of light-colored suits.

Through a forkful of rice Frank said, "It's healthy for business."

Sandy fixed him with an unimpressed face.

Frank waited until his mouth was clear. Letting out a long-suffering sigh, he said, "What do you want me to do?"

"Have you invited them for dinner?"

"Yes."

"Both of them?"

"Yes."

Sandy waited. "And?"

With the fork still in one hand Frank shrugged, "Howard said he's not sure."

Sandy returned to gaze out of the window. "What about Clark?"

"He said he's going back home for Christmas."

Sandy tsked to herself.

Frank watched her watching Clark. "You know, sometimes people are just hard workers. Clark's what my father would have called 'a grafter'."

"You know, sometimes there's more to it than that." They looked at each other. "Clark's what my father would have called 'a loner'."

"And maybe it's none of our business."

Sandy went back to looking out and hummed. That was certainly true. There was just something about Clark. He went about his work in such a quiet and unfussy way, she had never heard him raise his voice, and he had the best manners of anyone she had ever met outside her own family. But there was something else. A quality about him. Was it loneliness? Homesickness, maybe? Whatever it was, it pulled at her maternal instinct. "Did you mention my pumpkin pie?"

Frank rolled his eyes and in the hope of peace, relented. "I'll ask him again."

Satisfied, Sandy allowed the blinds to snap closed. "I better go." She thumbed the door. "You want me to send him in?"

Frank wiped his hands with a napkin and made exaggerated jaw movements in an effort to dislodge little pieces of rice. "Please."

She pulled open the door and stuck her head out. "Hey Clark. Have you got a second?"

Clark glanced up smiling. "For you? Absolutely. What's up?"

Sandy nudged her head sideways. "Frank." She turned to face back inside the office. "Need anything while I'm out?"

Frank scratched the top of his head. "We're getting low on toner if you're passing that way."

Sandy nodded as Clark came past. "What about you, Sweetcheeks?"

"What's that?"

"I'm going to pick up Becky- do you need anything from town?"

Clark said no thankyou.

"How about some lunch?"

Sandy ignored the glare from Frank's direction while Clark blinked. "I'm sorry?"

With a sweet-natured smile, she still managed to sound slightly accusatory, "You've not stopped all morning?"

"Oh. No, I'm fine thankyou." Clark pressed both hands to his stomach. "I had a big breakfast."

"Well, I'm sure you did, but breakfast was exactly one mealtime ago."

Underneath the cheery façade there was an edge to his wife's tone that was as unmistakable to Frank as it was familiar. It was her 'don't mess with me. I'm a mom and I know best' voice.

"Why don't I just-"

"-_Thank_you. Darling."

Clark bounced lightly on his feet, and found an interesting spot on the ceiling, trying his best to pretend to not notice the silent exchange of extremely heated eye-arguing. Eventually, from behind him, Sandy piped, "I'll bring you a sandwich."

"Bye, honey." Frank said sweetly but sternly.

Sandy backed off. "I'll see you guys later." On her way out she turned to mouth 'Pie!' over Clark's shoulder.

Frank rolled his eyes and waited for her to leave. "Sorry about that. Take a seat." He smiled at Clark. "You look nervous."

Clark was looking at the stack of files Frank had piled on one corner of his desk. They were labelled 'Kent, C J'. "I guess it's review time for me, too?"

Frank removed the tupperware box and slid the files over in its place. He took out and daintily put on a pair of half-moon spectacles. "End of the year's a good time to take stock, I think."

Clark nodded as Frank opened the top folder. "I'll be straight with you, Clark. After the polling piece, I wasn't sure where this style of writing fitted into our paper." Frank's hands opened while he read it. "It's just a little hard-hitting, you know? Our popularity's been built on events coverage; visitor information; selling the island. Not political corruption and scandal."

Clark shifted uncomfortably as Frank removed and refolded the glasses. "But I've got to tell you. Readership since you've been here has doubled. I thought I knew our demographic." Frank's eyes shone. "I've never been so happy to be proven wrong." The smile faded a little while Frank closed the file. "I don't know if I can, but I'd really like to keep you here. What do you say?"

An expression of delight took its place on Clark's face. "Sir, it would be an honor." They shook hands.

Frank beamed. "Good. And that goes for whether Sam... makes it back or not."

Clark looked down. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that. About the Review."

"Now that's more like it!" Frank rooted through the most recent document to find the relevant pages of copy- "I thought the drafts were great."

Clark still felt uneasy about it. "I wasn't sure that I was finding the right tone. He had a very distinctive style."

"It's different." Frank agreed. "It's good."

Clark smiled tightly. "Big shoes."

Frank looked over at him steadily. "You're doing a really good job with this."

Clark nodded. "The other thing is." He held and then blew out a breath. "Howard really needs to go through it."

"I'll talk to him. Have him put something on your desk."

"Thankyou."

Clark got to his feet. Frank rose with him. "Oh, hey. Before you go."

Clark hesitated with one hand on the door handle.

"You sure you can't make it next week?" Frank squinted hopefully, "We'll have plenty?"

"Oh. No. Thankyou." Clark raised a hand graciously, "I'm going home."

"I'm under instruction to mention my wife's pumpkin pie?"

Clark's face set in a grin. "It's an incredibly generous offer. Maybe next year?"

"She thinks you work too hard." Frank nodded towards the newsroom. "You are allowed breaks you know, for food, and water and things."

He watched the young man's cheeks redden. "Well, actually sir, now that you mention it, my plan was to work right through and finish early today."

"Oh." Frank sounded taken aback.

"It's my friend's birthday," Clark explained.

"Oh, okay."

Clark frowned. "I mean... if that's alright?"

"Yes, no, that's fine!" Frank bobbed his head in exaggerated fashion. "No. Yes. That's great." He wiggled the fingers of one hand out in front of him. "You get going, as soon as you're done. As soon as you want."

Relieved, Clark took a breath. "Thankyou."

"To tell you the truth, Sandy'll be mighty pleased. She's been worrying about you. She's a strong believer in the importance of a work/life balance."

A work/life balance. Clark smiled weakly. "Yes."

Frank shrugged, "So, where's the party? Is it local?"

Avoiding eye contact, Clark fidgeted with his glasses. "It's um... just the other side of ...town."

**--**

The car radio was on, Lois had Christmas songs for company. She hummed along until someone requested 'Wonderful Christmastime' and she was forced to find another station. She was a fan of the Beatles, she didn't mind Wings, she appreciated Paul McCartney as much as the next reasonable person- but she just couldn't stand that song. There was something about the electric keyboard intro that she found intensely irritating. Her thumb pressed the dial on the console.

She scanned through some advertisements before catching the end of a news report. A volcano had just erupted somewhere in South America. She listened until the announcer mentioned Superman, and then she remembered that her new thing was that she didn't care about him or anything he did anymore and so she turned the radio off. And then she felt like an idiot.

Huffing into the silence, Lois twisted in the seat to get a better view but there was still no sign of Chinese food, or, for that matter, Jimmy. In the middle of the road a loose centerfold of newspaper flapped in the breeze. Across the street LexCorp Tower remained deserted. As far as one could tell, anyway. Its black shape loomed overhead. She leaned forward and angled her temple against the cool glass of the side window, craning her neck to see if she could make it past the foreshortening of the building and see to the very top edge of the roof from down here at street level. She found that she could. And beyond it, was a brilliant night sky.

Despite yesterday's miserable forecast, today- her birthday, had turned out to be cloudless and unseasonably warm; the brightest day of the winter so far. And it had given way to the clearest night. Lois gazed upwards, thralled by the view. She mused quietly, "We're all in the gutter. But some of us are looking at the stars."

Her cell phone vibrating on the dashboard startled her. She smiled at the caller ID before she pressed to answer. Down the phoneline the Lane-Feldmans chorused, "_HAPPY BIRTHDAAAAY!" _

Lois chuckled. "Hello everyone."

For a moment Lois heard nothing except the sounds of a struggle. Then some kind of negotiation talks seemed to be underway. Above other voices she could hear her sister. "_No, listen, just let Mommy talk to her first. It's important. ...Huh?"_

Then Lucy's voice was louder. Apparently, the negotiation had been conducted successfully. She was insisting, _"No, I'm not going to say anything, I promise_."

"Hey. What's going on?"

"_Oh, nothing," _Lucy said,_ "just Elizabeth. So how was your day, birthday girl?_"

Lois weighed up an answer. "Pretty good, thanks."

"_We uh, heard on the news; about Lex Luthor. Do you really think he'll go to jail?"_

"They'll throw away the key if I have anything to do with it."

"_Will you have to testify?"_

"It's early days, Luce. I don't know."

"_We just tried you at home. You're not still at the Planet are you?_"

Wearily rather than defensively, Lois replied, "No, I'm not still at the Planet."

"_Are you sure?_"

"Lucy, please. Give me some credit."

Lucy's voice carried an undertone of rank suspicion. "_Where are you?_"

Alone in her car, Lois knocked her knees together. "I'm ...out. Getting some dinner."

"_By yourself?_"

Lois sighed. "No."

There was an agitated little gasp. Lois could imagine the expression of delight on her sister's face. "_We're not interrupting anything are we?_"

Lois deadpanned, "You mean _apart_ from the hot date I'm in the middle of?"

"_Seriously?_" Lucy squeaked.

"No."

A scowl was followed by more strangled mumblings. "_Yes, in a minute. No, I'm not going to tell her!_"

Lois listened harder, trying to make out words. "What's going on over there?"

"_Elizabeth's got some news. She wants to tell you herself_."

Lois smiled. "If she can wait a couple of days, she can tell me in person?"

A heavy silence fell. A damning silence. Lois squinted, "You guys are still coming over Saturday, right?"

"_Oh, honey. We really want to, but something's come up_."

Lucy sounded pained and so Lois tried to keep the crushing disappointment out of her voice. "You can't make it?"

"_It's David's mother. She's taken a turn for the worse. I'm so sorry, Lo. I know you were looking forward to it. We were too._"

Lois brushed it off. "No, Lucy, Come on. I understand."

"_We're staying over but we were thinking we could stop by first thing Sunday- on the way back home_?"

Lois raised an eyebrow. "And what's that? A five hundred-mile round trip, in twenty-four hours? The weekend before Christmas?"

"_We'd do it, no problem_?"

"I think you should focus on David. He must be going through it right now."

"He worries about his dad," Lucy admitted.

"There you go. Let him worry about his mom and his dad. You don't need to worry about me."

There was a beat. Lucy was uncertain. "_Are you sure?_"

Lois ran her palm along her jeans. "I'm absolutely the last thing you need to worry about. Seriously."

"_I know, it's just- I hate to think of you rattling around all al_-"

"Hey." Lois interrupted brightly, "I'll see you in a week anyway, right?"

"_I guess_."

"Besides." Lois sniffed. "Actually, I'm really busy this weekend." She swallowed, "...Last minute ...Christmas... whatnot, and ...seasonal ...whatever."

"_Okay." _Lois could tell Lucy was chewing a thumbnail._ "If you're sure?"_

Out the window, Jimmy had just turned into sight. He was carrying a cardboard box out in front of him like a theater attendant with a tray. The cardboard box was steaming.

"Listen, Luce. Dinner's arriving. I've gotta run."

"_Oh, okay. Bye, then! See you at Christmas, alright?_"

Lois smiled. "First thing."

"_Don't forget you're picking up Dad."_

Her eyes rolled. "I won't."

"_His flight gets in quite early."_

"I know."

"_You can check the times on the Internet. Would you like me to email you the details?"_

"Lucy," Lois said sharply. "I can handle it."

"_Okay. Love you!_"

"Love you too." Lois lowered the phone to end the call.

A small, tinny Lucy cried into the dark, "_Oh! Wait!_" Lois hastily moved the handset back to her ear, "What?"

"_Elizabeth!_"

"What?"

"_She's been chosen to read something out at the Christmas concert! She wrote it herself_."

"Really?" Lois fairly beamed with pride. "That's great! Tell her congratulations from me."

"_It was about her Superman party_."

A breath caught in Lois's throat. "That's great."

"_I was thinking you could just pass that on and tell him thanks again_."

Lois faltered. "I...I..."

Down the line, in the background, Lois made out a small, unhappy voice. "_M-o-m! Did you tell her_?"

"_Of course not, honey!" _Lucy sounded faraway again. There was some mumbling. And then_, "No, she can't talk right now. She's busy."_

Lucy's voice was louder as she came back on the line_; "Lo, I better go. Happy Birthday, hon_!" And then the line went dead.

For a moment Lois didn't move, didn't even end the call. She simply remained still, holding the phone and the dial tone to her head. Outside the passenger door, Jimmy waited patiently, hopping from one foot to the other to keep warm. Flipping the cell shut, Lois leaned across to flick up the lock. She held up the phone. "Sorry."

Jimmy settled into his seat balancing the box of takeout on his knees. "Who was that?"

"No one. My sister."

Jimmy whipped off his gloves and methodically began to lift out cartons of food, setting them down in the spaces between his feet. "Okay, we got soup, rice, chicken chow mein-" he pointed at Lois; "with extra mushrooms. And, mu shu pork with pancakes. And Mr Wan sent you this; on the house." Lastly, Jimmy carefully lifted out a greasy paper plate on which an egg roll was lolling around. There was a birthday candle inelegantly wedged into the top.

Lois said nothing. Jimmy reached for a foam cup of soup and licked the tip of his thumb where there had been a little overspill underneath the lid. He glanced over at Lois. "You okay?"

"Yeah." From some other place, her focus seemed to pull back in. "Yum. Egg rolls." She offered Jimmy an unconvincing smile. "My favorite."

**--**

By the time he got home fingers of red streaked the sky and there was no point in going back to bed. Clark grabbed a quick shower and a slice of toast and headed into work. The office was not far from his building, just a five-minute walk. The only other people out on the streets in the early morning gloom were market traders and street sellers.

There was a newspaper stand where Clark stopped every day. Its shutters were up and Clark nodded good morning at the owner and bought a copy of the Planet. It was tucked under his arm as he punched in the keycode, and let himself in to the offices of the Gazette.

At the top of the stairs Clark opened the doors to the newsroom but hesitated at the threshold. The main lights were already on but the room was empty. Moving quietly Clark went over to his desk.

Before leaving yesterday afternoon he had left his workspace clear and free of clutter- as usual. Now there was a single sheet of letter paper and a shoeboxed sized storage container. The paper had been layered with evenly spaced yellow sticky notes covered in handwriting, the box was not labelled. Clark set down the copy of the Planet from his arm and carefully worked off the lid.

The box was full of photographs, all 8" x 10" in size. Some were in color, some were black and white. Clark began to finger through them. The prints were loosely piled in, and they were not categorized in any way he could tell except that they seemed to be in chronological order. The pictures were of people- all kinds of people, everyone, of the island through the year. Clark worked back in time. Groups shots and candids, all mixed in together. Some of the pictures were formal- weddings and presentations and classes of school children, ramrod straight with a stern-looking teacher stood to one side- but most were not. There were pictures of street festivals and beach parties, people dancing and people laughing. Normal people. The collection reminded Clark of his school newspaper days. It was like a yearbook. It was wonderful.

Towards the bottom of the pile Clark found a picture and slid it out to get a better look. It had been taken here, in the newsroom, over in front of Frank's office. Clark flipped it over. In pencil, it was marked 'Jan. Eek's B'day'. And there was the birthday boy himself, Eko, in the middle of the group with his arms slung around Frank and Sandy on either side. Clark smiled. Eko looked a little worse for wear. Next to Sandy there was Henry who was balancing a party cup on the top of Rebecca's head. On the opposite side, laughing with Frank, there was a man Clark didn't recognize. He realized it must be Sam. Clark lingered on the image. Sam was fair haired, about his age and about his height but skinnier, Clark thought.

A door creaked; Clark glanced around. Howard was at the doorway of the darkroom with his camera in his hand. Although it was silly, Clark felt a hot rush of guilt, like he had been caught prying. He carefully replaced the photograph back into the pack. "These are great. Thanks."

Howard looked at the set of yellow post-its on the desk. "I made some notes. The trick with the Review is to use crowd pictures wherever you can." He lifted the camera a little, "Readers like to try and find themselves."

Clark nodded slowly. "I'll do that."

For a moment silence descended and neither man moved. It was not the first time they had been alone in the office- but usually they were engrossed in work. It was awkward. Then Howard said, "You forgot to write about the tsunami."

They shared a look. "I didn't forget."

"Bali was affected too."

"I wasn't sure that... people would want to-"

"It happened," Howard simply shrugged. He gestured to the box, "The same as Temple celebrations, or Halloween, or Diwali, or Christmas. It happened." He smiled sadly. "It's pointless pretending it didn't."

They heard someone coming up the steps from downstairs. Frank arrived. He looked the both of them up and down before crossing the floor.

"Not you two, again. What the heck kind of time do you get up in the morning?" He fiddled through a large bunch of keys at his office door. "Or is it that you don't go home?"

"-Couldn't sleep."

"-Couldn't sleep."

With a raised eyebrow Frank looked over his shoulder at Howard and Clark looking at each other. Then Frank frowned and sniffed. "Can anyone else smell ash?"

Must invest in a stronger shampoo, Clark mentally instructed himself as Frank turned to Howard. "Have you been burning incense sticks in here again?"

--

Lois slung the scrubbing pad into the plastic bucket and got up off all fours. She peeled away the rubber gloves and dropped them into the bucket too. She found a pen and pulled off the cap with her teeth while a socked foot swung the oven door closed. With the pen she faced the refrigerator and deliberately scored a line through the last item on the piece of notepaper in front of her; 'Clean oven'.

"Done."

And there you had it. She clicked the lid back onto the pen. The List had been completed. It was no more. The oven had been cleaned. And before that the freezer had been defrosted. And before that the bathroom tiles had been de-scaled. Her spice rack was now arranged in alphabetical order and she had finally got round to removing that unsightly wine stain off the coffee table. She looked at The List, toying with the idea of framing it or at least maybe laminating it. This was an historic moment and she felt that it deserved to be preserved or commemorated in some way.

Then she sighed, reached out, pulled The List away off the fridge, screwed it up and aimed it into her trashcan. The time on the microwave read 19:02. Seven o'clock on a Saturday night and she was stood in the middle of her spotless kitchen, hands on hips, in flannel bottoms and no make-up, marking time and at a complete loose end. There was simply nothing left to do.

She had finished all her Christmas shopping early this year. The presents yet to be distributed- the ones for her family, were already packed away in bags, waiting in the hall. She had sent all of her cards weeks ago, including one for the Walkers in which she had slipped a copy of the Pretenders Greatest Hits for the kids.

She had spent the morning sat in front of LexCorp Tower, and then the afternoon cleaning, and right now as she saw it, it was a toss up between going next door to hang out with Misty and old Mrs Eckler, digging around on her hard drive to work on one of many long-since abandoned romance novellas, or heading back for an evening stint on stakeout duty. She could always take a book?

A sound from outside her apartment caught her attention. She tuned her ears to it. It was a distinctive sound- the sound of singing. Of children singing. She recognized the tune. It was coming from down the hall. Lois clasped her hands together. Christmas Carolers; coming this way! In an enthusiastic frenzy of movement she checked her purse for some loose change. Finding a measly couple of pennies and a subway ticket she opened and closed cupboards searching for something suitable to give the children. The singing was getting closer. The best she could come up with was a packet of stale water crackers and a tub of mixed olives. She sighed ruefully; it had been a while since her homelife had justified a grocery shop.

In desperation Lois rifled through her bag of wrapped gifts trying to locate the only thing she could think of that was in anyway Christmassy; she found the octagonal-shaped box with the tag addressed to her father and ripped off the wrapping. The lid came with it and liquor-filled chocolate bottles spilled everywhere. Scooping a handful off the floor Lois went to her door and yanked it open. The singing was now coming from the opposite direction. She turned to see the stragglers of the group rounding the corner at the end of her corridor, the bobble on the end of one little boy's woolly hat disappearing out of sight, the strains of 'O Come All Ye Faithful' getting fainter and fainter.

They were gone. They had passed her by. She had been _snubbed_ by Carol singers.

She checked her neighbors' doors. Mrs Eckler had hung a wreath. Further down, the frame of next-door-but-one was edged with tinsel. In comparison she had to admit her own door looked kind of bare and uninviting. Certainly not very festive. She gazed back into her apartment. There were no decorations and no tree. It was true she hadn't been around the place much lately but it was still a dispiriting sight.

She looked at the liquors in her hand and went to grab her purse.

--

Think festively, Lois instructed herself as she scuffed along the aisles with a hand basket dangling in one hand and a blueberry slushie in the other.

It was only a short walk to the nearest 7-Eleven and so she hadn't bothered to change. She'd simply shrugged on her heaviest coat, pulled on a pair of furry moonboots and headed out. She moved up and down the walkways slowly, lacking her usual purpose, sucking on her straw, dragging the soles of her feet. Over the radio system 'Wonderful Christmastime' came on and inwardly Lois cringed. She couldn't stand that song.

In the basket she had placed the only items the store still had in stock by way of seasonal decoration; a packet of straggley red tinsel, a plastic angel for the top of her non-existent tree and one of those crappy battery-operated doorbuzzers that played 'Jingle Bells' when you pressed it. She figured she could tie a length of string to the halo of the angel and turn it into a hanging ornament of some kind. The electronic doorbuzzer on the other hand wasn't really her style, but sometimes one had to make the best of a bad situation.

She paused over some novelty keychains in the middle of the homeware aisle. There were some pocket flashlights designed to look like Rudolf- the bulb lighted red when you held the button. She dropped one into the basket as a replacement for the keychain Jimmy had lost in her car.

After picking over some half-price cookies in the bargain bin Lois gravitated over towards the liquor section where a man and a woman were browsing the wine selection. Lois helped herself to a bottle of Creme de Cacao and then a large bottle of Captain Black's Jamaican Rum thinking she could fix herself some Frosty Noggins and really enter into the spirit of things. The bottles clonked together in her basket and she was treated to a disapproving look from the couple. She shrugged, "I'm thinking festively."

She joined the end of the checkout line, prodding the handbasket along with her feet when the line moved, jangling the keys in her pocket, sucking up the dregs of the slushie. It was only when she had nearly reached the cash register that she saw who was serving. The lip stud, the blue hair, the nametag pinned to his faded tour tee shirt. Bradley. She thought he only worked the early morning shift. Lois quickly glanced over her shoulder. There were other customers milling around- maybe he wouldn't strike up conversation? And she was wearing a big camel hair coat and furry boots. Maybe it was possible he wouldn't recognize her without looking normal? She hedged her bets and made to avoid eye contact regardless.

"Oh, hey, Miss Blodgett!" Bradley exclaimed loudly and delightedly, as if they had just bumped into each other on the street.

"Hello Bradley." Lois replied, low and even. It was a calculated ploy to set the tone and try and instill decorum into the conversation from the get-go.

Unhindered, Bradley beeped her items through. "Don't usually see you in here on a Saturday night!"

"No." Lois agreed quickly.

"Well. I'm glad you came in." Bradley leaned across to whisper- an affectation rendered redundant because he was speaking at such a high volume anyway. "I've got an early Christmas present for you."

"Oh? Really?" Sweet as it was, there was something about Bradley's over-enthusiasm that always made Lois slightly nervous. She suspected the young man harbored something of a crush and she hoped there was not a conflict of interests.

Finished with bagging everything the teenager ducked down beneath the counter and came back up with a medium-sized package wrapped in brown paper labelled to a Ms S. Blodgett. "This month's shipment was early. Just came in this morning. Shall I add it your bill?"

Lois's eyes darted left and right. "Uh, that would be great, thanks."

Bradley slapped the top of the package. "I'll go find you something to carry this in." He rang up the register and disappeared to find a waste disposal bag or something equally hardy. Lois's fingertips drummed the counter while she waited. A familiar voice close to her ear said, "Hey."

She whipped around to find herself at eye-level with a white bow tie.

"Richard!"

The bow tie was augmented by the rest of a very formal-looking outfit. Wearing a dinner jacket and long winter coat, with a crimson colored scarf hanging around his neck, Richard looked very smart. His eyes danced as he grinned at her. Actually, he looked more than smart. He looked very handsome. The thought took her by surprise. Rather charmingly, the effect was spoiled somewhat by the jumbo packets of yellow M&Ms and beef jerky he was holding in his hands.

With a raised eyebrow he nodded towards her own purchases where a shiny packet of hazelnut cookies and the distinctive neck of a bottle of rum were poking out the top of the bag in an incriminatingly visible fashion. "Big plans, huh?"

Lois ran a wisp of hair behind her ear. "I, uh... stuff got cancelled." She moved herself to block his view of the grocery bag. This served to remind her that in the face of his dashing appearance, she was wearing her pajamas. Pulling her coat tighter, she frowned. "What are you doing here?"

"On the way to the performance." He lifted the jerky and the M&Ms. "Just stopping for supplies."

Lois glanced at one of the packets. "I thought you didn't eat meat?"

"Oh, these aren't for me." Richard looked past Lois, to the entrance way, "They're for her."

Lois turned to see a painfully glamorous woman waiting at the door. Long earrings and an expensive looking necklace shimmered in the strip lighting of the store. She called over, "Richie, I think I forgot to mention-"

Before she could finish Richard held up the M&Ms. The woman broke into a grin and then made an exaggerated pointing gesture with both her hands- "I'll be in the car."

Lois turned back to Richard to find him gazing at her.

"So. How's the stakeout going?"

"Well, technically, it's not really a-"

Patiently, Richard corrected, "-How's the pseudo stakeout going?"

"Oh, you know." Lois nodded slowly, "It's pretty much been up there with learning the moves to the Macarena and attending the deputy Mayor's press briefings, as a total and complete waste of my time."

Richard smiled. "So can we expect you back in on Monday? Staff party?" He put a hopeful rising inflection on the last two words.

"I think we're going to give it the old college try one last time before the holiday."

He nodded in acceptance. "Well. We miss you in the office."

"I miss you, too." There was just the briefest telltale glottal stop before Lois added, "The office, I mean. The whole thing. And Jimmy. We both do."

Richard regarded her carefully. Was it possible that she was a little flustered? The idea brought a slow-burning smile to his lips.

Under his scrutiny Lois jerked her head. "I better get going. I hope you have a nice night." She placed a fifty dollar bill on the counter and balanced the paper bag on top of the package before edging it towards the side and heaving the whole thing off. "Tell him to keep the change."

--

Henry was nearing the payoff of a longwinded set-up. Clark could tell this because of the way Henry was struggling to keep a straight face and it was a well-known trait of his joke-telling that Henry cracked himself up.

"So he calls a special meeting to let the Cardinals know about the situation. He says; 'Okay, I have some good news and some bad news for you guys. The _good news_ is that we're getting a hundred million dollars from The Tasty Turkey Company." There was a well-practiced comedic delay. "The _bad news_ is that we've lost the ReadiBread account.'"

The punchline was met with some good-natured chuckling. Howard said, "Very good."

Henry sipped from his bottle and wiped his mouth. "It was in an email."

Everyone was gathered around Clark's desk. It was the end of the day, there was an easy school's-nearly-out atmosphere. They were relaxing, drinking and trading bad jokes, waiting for Frank to put the paper to bed and give them the official all clear.

"I've got one."

Everyone looked at Eko.

"What does Rudolf always say before telling a joke?"

Without missing a beat, Rebecca finished, "This one'll sleigh you."

This time there were groans. Eko scowled at Rebecca's unashamed gazumping. The little girl only sipped on her bottle of Cherry cola and continued clicking her sandals together. She smiled beatifically at him.

Sandy checked her watch again. "At this rate, we're going to need a flying reindeer and a sleigh. Honestly- you would think this would be the one day he could cut us some slack?"

"C'mon Sandy. Deadlines are deadlines. Can you imagine the letters page if we didn't get the Christmas edition out on time?" Howard smiled crookedly. "No Review? There'd be a revolt."

Of course Sandy knew he was right, but still. She rearranged the bed sheet her daughter was wearing. "But 8 o'clock? On Christmas Eve?"

"I know- bunch of slackers or what?"

Sandy shot Henry a warning glance, "Don't." She sighed, looking at Rebecca. "You can hardly have a Nativity play without Mary."

Behind them, Frank put down the phone and stepped out of his office.

He held up his hands. "And- we're done."

After a round of ironic cheers and high-fiving Sandy produced a sprig of plastic mistletoe. Dangling it above her head, she rewarded all of her guys with a quick kiss and a Merry Christmas. Henry picked up Rebecca for her turn and to unconvincing protests, she got a kiss from everyone too. She hoped dearly that Mister Kent didn't see her blush.

In uncompromising fashion, Sandy thumbed the door. "Let's go."

"I've just got to set the alarm."

"Honey, we're cutting it a little close. Mrs Griffith will be going ballistic; do you know how long she spent on those angel costumes? She used real sequins!"

"I know, I know." Frank was patting himself down. "Shoot. Where are my keys?"

"Bossman, just get going would you? We'll lock up."

Frank threw Howard a grateful look, "Are you sure? I know it's been a long day."

Howard assured him it was no problem. "Anyway. Eeks brought beer." Howard gazed down at the bottle in his hand- the labelling was of an unknown brand and in Indonesian. "Such as it is." He waited for Eko's delayed reaction, smiling broadly when he received the inevitable shove to the shoulder.

"In that case, let's get this show on the road."

Rebecca hopped lightly off the desk. Frank shouldered his leather satchel. "See you fellas tomorrow."

Henry tipped a salute. Eko said, "Do we need to bring anything?"

"Just a hearty appetite!" Sandy's eyes danced. "I'm trying out a new nut roast recipe for you guys this year!"

Prompted by a hard look from Rebecca, Henry and Eko responded with an overcompensatory, "Mmmm!"

More Merry Christmas's were exchanged in English and Balinese as Frank ushered his family towards the door. Henry called, "Break a bone, Becca!"

"Leg." Howard corrected.

"I will!"

"Oh, and hey." Clark held up the opened gift in his hand. "Thanks for the socks."

Sandy called back, "You're more than welcome, sweetie."

"And the candleholder." Clark gave Rebecca a warm smile.

Without making eye contact, Rebecca breathed, "You're welcome."

Frank pointed at Clark. "Travel safe, you hear?"

"I do. I will. See you in the New Year."

They listened as the Donahues rattled down the wooden staircase and out of the building.

Howard clapped his hands at the other three. "Before everyone disappears; anyone for a drop of the good stuff?" He went over to open his desk drawer and came back with an unopened bottle of whiskey.

Clark stirred to make a move. "I can't really, I should get going too."

"Oh come on, Clark." Howard set out four paper cups and into each poured a single measure. "It's Christmas." Clark stayed put.

"Gentlemen." They followed Howard's lead and all raised their drinks. "A toast. To absent friends."

Howard knocked his back in one. Clark did too before gently replacing the cup to the desk. "That's really it for me. I'll leave you guys to it." He gathered his things and walked to the door. "Happy Holidays."

Howard sat down in Clark's vacated chair. He stared into his empty cup. "You know. Sam hated it."

"Whiskey?"

"Noo," Howard chuckled at Eko. "Christmas. The whole thing." He fluttered a hand in the air. "Forced joviality; when the rest of the whole year, the world's so hateful." His eyebrows raised as he smiled wistfully. "Why he loved it here, I guess."

The smile broke. Howard disregarded the cup to drop his head and run his hands through his hair. He whimpered, "Oh God, look at me. I'm such a cliché."

Henry looked into his drink. "He would've been really proud of you, man."

"No, he wouldn't. He would've kicked me up the backside and told me to get on with it."

Henry's lips downturned in consideration. "Yeah, he would."

"My first Christmas without him." Howard sighed to catch a breath. He looked up, "What the hell am I going to do?"

Eko slapped him between the shoulder blades. "Well. Tomorrow? You're going to come have dinner with us."

"I can't. I'd be terrible company."

"It's okay, How. We're used to it."

That forced a milky laugh. "And then what?"

"And then, hell, we don't care." Eko regarded him unapologetically. "Nut roast. The least you can do is be there with us."

Henry was nodding. "Moral support."

"After that?" Eko continued, "We'll take you back home. You can be as alone and bitter as you want."

Howard smiled a small, grateful smile. "It's just... I'm finding it hard. To keep going. Ticking off all these ...things. Without him."

"It'll get easier."

Howard looked back at Eko steadily. "It's been months and it hasn't so far. What if it never gets easier?"

Henry suddenly looked very serious. As if reciting a mantra, he said, "Courage is being scared to death, but saddling up anyway."

Howard's face cleared. Feeling a little better, he nodded. "What is that? Some kind of ancient Hindi proverb?"

Sheepishly Henry gazed at the toes of his cowboy boots. "S'John Wayne, actually."

"You'll get over this, How. I promise you. And then?" Eko lifted his arms, "There is no one that knows."

"What are you telling me? That I'll move on. Find somebody else?" Howard shook his head. "It doesn't work that way," he said softly.

"Of course it does. You think there's only one person out there for you? One true love? And that's it? All over? _Apa-apa_?"

"You don't?"

Eko made a phffing noise and flapped a hand.

"Don't you believe in soulmates?"

"Radha and Krishna is a nice story. But the chances, the odds, the mathematics;" Eko was unmoved by the look on Howard's face, "it's simply not feasible."

"Feasible?" Howard was nearly smiling. "Eko. Mate. It's not about mathematics, or statistics, or _being feasible_." Howard's dark eyes shone. "It's about... meeting someone- someone who charges the air around them. And discovering that there's a connection between you that's so strong, you feel completed in a way that you didn't know even existed." Howard's expression changed, darkened. His voice dropped. He rasped, "And then they're gone. And you realize. That a part of you has gone too."

"But it's just _that part_, Howard. Just one part. You're still here. _You_ have to live. Grieve, yes. But then you have to go on."

For a moment Howard seemed on the verge of tears. Then he smiled again. "No, guys, you don't understand. It's not just grieving. It's more than that. Losing him..." Howard swallowed. "It changes you, who you are. It's like you're someone different now. Like you've been altered. Physically." He looked up into his friends worried faces and tried to explain. "It's like you're trying to slip back into a life, a way of living, but you've changed shape and nothing quite fits anymore. It's like there's this blank space. A nothingness." In the struggle for the words, Howard sighed and threw up a hand, "It's like-"

"It's like there's an ache, a longing, a dull hopeless yearning for something that you know you'll never get back."

Howard, Eko and Henry all turned, surprised to find Clark was still standing at the door. Clark was looking back in their direction but not really at them. His voice was lower and flatter than usual. He seemed faraway as he continued to speak. "You can feel it inside of you, here, an emptiness where that person used to be, and you carry it with you, all the time. A missing piece, a loss, an absence so unforgiving that it keeps you awake at night." One of his eyebrows raised. "It's like you saw the rest of your life unfolding in that person's face, and you can barely imagine going through life without them. And now, all that's left is the reality of the world you wake up in, and the certainty that somehow, life's not as bright as it was before. And it never will be again."

The room was silent. They watched Clark blink and his eyes clear, almost as if he'd been knocked unconscious and he was just coming to. In a more stable, colorful voice he said, "I mean, you know. Probably." He coughed. "So I've heard."

Howard was speechless. They were all speechless.

Clark touched his glasses before throwing them a cheerful smile. "Anyway. Have a great Christmas everyone!" In place of a drink, he raised the candleholder Rebecca had given him. "Cheers."

Automatically, Henry and Eko lifted their cups to Clark's disappearing back. Their hands lowered again. They turned back to Howard who still looked stunned.

He lifted his thumb. "Yeah." Howard offered, absently. "It's a little bit- it's a little bit like what he said."

--

In Metropolis, the morning air was chill. Lois had wrapped up warm against it. She nodded ahead. "I've got a good feeling about today."

Jimmy was slumped in his seat with his hands under his armpits. His voice was toneless and muffled by his scarf. "I don't even know what day it is, anymore."

"I think it's Christmas Eve."

Jimmy looked sideways at her. "How can you be sure?"

Lois's wrist moved to hold up the advent calendar. "One chocolate left."

--

Clark packed the gifts for his mother and Ben last, laying them carefully on top of everything else. As he zipped the hold-all closed there was a knock on the door. He checked his wristwatch. It was just after nine. He x-rayed the door as he went to answer it and was surprised.

He pulled the door open. "Howard."

Dispensing with small talk, Howard said, "So who was she?"

"She?"

Howard made a face.

Clark sighed. "She-" He smiled lopsidedly, and then shook his head. "It's over now. It doesn't matter."

"Yeah, that's just what it sounded like." Howard's eyes checked to see if they could find any tell tale mark on Clark's ring finger. "Divorced?"

Clark let out a hollow laugh. "No."

Clark watched the thought cross Howard's mind, etch itself in the worry lines between his eyebrows. "She's not... dead?"

"No. She's not dead. Nothing like that." Clark found himself embarrassed to have hijacked Howard's grief. "Really, I shouldn't have said anything." He tried to apologize, "I-I don't know why I-"

"No. No, I'm glad that you did." Howard scuffed a foot before looking up. "What you said. All that stuff. It was true. It was nice."

Howard's expression changed again. Softened. Clark could swear- it was practically a smile. "You should come tomorrow. Sandy bakes a mean pumpkin pie."

Clark smiled back. "So I've heard."

"So you should come."

"I can't." Clark gestured behind him, back into the room, at the sports bag on his table. "I'm going home."

Howard nodded and then held out his hand. "Have a good Christmas."

Clark took it. "You too."

Howard placed his hands into his pockets and rolled on his feet. "Sure I can't change your mind?"

Clark cracked a half-smile. "My mom bakes a mean pumpkin pie of her own. She'd be devastated if I cheated on it with someone else's."

"Well, we'll miss you. Especially Becky."

At Clark's clueless expression, Howard explained, "Well no-one else got a candleholder!"

Clark chuckled embarrassedly. "Ah."

Howard went to leave but then hesitated. "I don't know if I said? The End of Year Review." He looked up from the floor as a smile played on his lips. "It was really good."

--

Inside the car, nothing much had changed since the morning. Lois and Jimmy were still sat in position- Jimmy hugging himself listlessly, and Lois resting her head to one side. Their expressions were glazed over. They couldn't see much now- outside it was dark and what had started off as a gentle flurry of snow had worsened into a blizzard. Jimmy imagined his as an experience once shared by Scott of the Antarctic.

They had the radio on. They were playing requests again. Over the end of White Christmas, the DJ said, '_And this next one goes out to Marjorie over in Hackensack. From your loving husband Alan. Take it away, Paul._'

A familiar intro played. Then the singing started.

'_The mood is right. The spirit's up. We're here tonight. And that's enough. Sim-ply hav-in' a wonderful christmastime! Sim-ply hav-in' a wonderful christmastime!'_

Lois felt the skin just underneath the corner of her right eye twitch.

--

"And don't forget to feed the goat."

Martha breezed past with the bathroom scales under her arm. Clark picked up the small bowl of nibbles he was working his way through and got up off the armchair to follow her into the dining room. A small, neatly packed suitcase was lying wide open on the dining room table. Either side were piles of clothes and, here and there, a roll of film or pack of batteries. A Christmas aroma of cinnamon and mulled wine wafted in from the kitchen. It reminded Clark of all the other delights he was evidently going to miss this year. He leaned against the doorjamb, idly munching on a mixture of peanuts and raisins.

"I can't believe you're leaving me on my own."

Martha set the scales on the floor. "Stand on these, would you?"

Clark put down the bowl and stepped onto the scales. Martha read out, "Two twenty-four point four."

Frowning, she selected a cardigan from one of the piles, pressed it into the suitcase and zipped it up. "Are you losing weight? I hope you're looking after yourself over there?"

He watched her. "You're abandoning me. On Christmas Eve."

"I'm not abandoning you." She heaved the suitcase off the table for him to hold and took another reading. "Two seventy-nine point seven." Her eyes looked upward while her brain performed the mental arithmetic, "Umm."

"Fifty-five point three. Yes, you are." He hopped off the scales and gently laid the case back down on the table for her. "What's your limit?"

"Fifty pounds."

He went back to leaning in the door. "Your only son."

"I'm not _abandoning_ you." Martha repeated in a tone that said, quit with the melodrama.

"What would you call it?"

"I'm taking a short holiday trip at the very last minute. Besides, you're not on your own." Martha pointed past him to the kitchen, to the dog basket. "You've got Shelby."

Shelby's ears pricked up. He and Clark looked at each other. If he had been human, Shelby would have shrugged.

Clark folded his arms. "I thought you guys were going away for Easter?"

"Hmm? Oh, we are." The knuckle of her index finger tapped against her top lip. "The question is; will I need a second pair of evening shoes?"

"You're going away for Christmas, AND you're going away for Easter? Again?"

Ignoring the attitude, Martha added, "Yes, and we're maybe going away for Valentine's Day, and we're definitely not here for July Fourth, either." She looked up and did a double-take. "Is there a problem with that?"

Clark was managing to look both taken aback and hurt. "What about the farm?"

Martha continued with repacking different combinations. "Yes, five hundred acres of corn that a pensioner with bad knees single-handedly takes care of on a year-round basis. I'm asking you to hold down the fort for a few days and walk a dog; I just don't know how in the world you'll ever cope." Remembering something, Martha stopped to point at him, "And don't forget to feed the goat."

With a black expression Clark rolled his shoulders. He chuntered away to himself, "Easter in Aruba, Christmas in Miami. Where are you going for July Fourth? Venice? Paris? Saint-Tropez?"

Martha fixed him with a warning glare. For a bit she carried on packing. Then she sniffed, and lightly said, "Metropolis, actually."

She could feel his eyes on her. "Metropolis."

"A weekend break."

Clark blinked. "In Metropolis?"

Martha explained defensively, "His daughter keeps throwing these discount deals at us, we don't get a lot of say in the whys and wherefores."

Clark huffed.

"Oh Clark. Will you grow up?"

"I just don't see why you couldn't have turned down Metropolis, of all places. And you know, if you want to see the world, you don't need travel agent freebies."

Martha put down the spare glasses case in her hand and turned to him. "Yes, I'm picturing the conversation now; 'Well, that's real thoughtful of her, Ben, but tell Chrissy; "No, thanks". See, we don't need those airline tickets. Not when my son is Superman and can fly us out there himself;'" she made jazz hands which Clark thought was a little unnecessary, "'Surprise!'"

They glared at each other with a matching pair of moody expressions. Without breaking eye contact, Clark softened first. "I'm thinking you're going to have to tell him eventually." He watched his mother sigh.

"Eventually, yes, I suppose I will have to tell him."

"I mean, all these vacations..." Clark looked down at the floor. "You guys seem pretty serious about each other."

Martha looked at Clark. "He's a good man. He's been good to me. You know that right?"

"Yeah, I know." Clark said lightly, shrugging it off, "That's why I'm saying."

She waited until he looked up again. "No-one will ever replace your father, Clark. No-one."

"Mom, I know." He smiled genuinely, and then couldn't help but wince, "But, Metropolis?"

Martha smiled back at him, practically beaming. "We're going to go right to the top of the Emperor Building; eat hotdogs; see a show!" Gently, she prodded, "You always said I should visit?"

He chuckled sadly. "I meant visit me."

"_I_ didn't ask you to up sticks and move to Bali."

Wearily, he nodded 'yeah, yeah.'

"Anyway, why don't you come along?" Martha suggested brightly, "Be our tour guide for a day?"

"Chaperone you and Ben Hubbard on your romantic mini-break?" Clark reached for the bowl of nibbles again. "No offence, mom, but no thanks."

As innocently as she dared, Martha's voice tinkled, "Well, there's nothing to stop you from making it a romantic mini-break of your own?"

The handful of peanuts stopped midway to his mouth. He treated her to a growled "M-o-m" of warning.

Martha simply ignored him. "In fact, scratch that. Forget the mini-break part of it. Move back home _permanently_, drop down to your knees, _beg_ forgiveness and get that girl proposed to and married before she comes to her senses completely and finds someone else."

Clark crunched away the nibbles and looked at his watch. "Five hours, thirty-six minutes, and twelve seconds until the Lois Lecture." He looked back up. "I believe that's a new record; congratulations."

Martha gave him an unrepentant shrug; worth a shot. With finality she flipped the suitcase shut, zipped it and buckled it. "Ben's going to be here any minute."

"What time's your flight?"

"Six thirty. Last one out."

"Need a ride to the airport?"

Martha glanced over. Clark mimed a steering wheel as if to clarify the non-super part of the offer.

"He's in a cab."

Clark nodded, scooping another handful from the bowl.

"You remember my second cousin Eleanor?"

Clark frowned. A memory of wearing his Sunday clothes and being shown around a dairy factory but not being able to have any ice cream floated up. And then, later, having afternoon tea in a big house that carried the whiff of mothballs and Miss Havisham. And still not being able to have any ice cream. "Vaguely."

"She was a martyr to her cause too. 'I don't need anyone' she used to say. 'Not when I've got my cows.'"

Clark watched his mother with a neutral expression.

"Now look at her. Old and sick and rich and alone."

"Know what this is?" Clark's knees bent and he stooped under the influence of an imaginary pressure. "Me; being crushed under the weight of that analogy of our uncannily similar parallel lives."

Martha lifted the suitcase off the table and set it down on the floor. She was quiet for a moment. "She sent me a card, you know."

Clark threw a raisin high into the air and caught it in his mouth. "Aunt Eleanor?"

A beat. "Lois."

Clark stopped what he was doing to look at his mother. "She sent a card?"

Martha nodded.

"Lois did?"

"It arrived a couple of days ago. With a pair of your glasses and a bundle of clothes they found at the bottom of an elevator shaft;" she tutted at his carelessness, "I mean really, Clark."

"She sent a card. Here?"

Martha sighed. "I know you two have your... own way of doing things. But. I hope you sent her something."

"Actually," Clark admitted, "I did." He rubbed at his elbow. "She should be getting it today."

--

Jimmy hesitated, taking his time to take it all in. He was a little overwhelmed. The Conference room had been cleared- the long table had been pushed to the side and was laden with food and drink. The space created had been turned into a dancefloor. There was a DJ and disco lights. There were people, lots of people. People dancing. And loud music. And people. It had been so long since he had seen this many people- all at once. Who were not Lois.

He headed straight for the food. He had just helped himself to a plate and napkin when someone slapped him on the back. "Hey, look who's here? Jimmay! You made it!" Richard shouted into his ear.

"Oh my God. Is that real Roquefort?"

Richard felt that Jimmy was eyeing the cheese board of leftovers with more desire than perhaps it deserved. But he had seen this kind of haunted expression before. He patted Jimmy's shoulder sympathetically, "Nice to break the stakeout take-out cycle of junk food, huh?"

"Mmm." Jimmy said, on the lookout for crackers and a knife, not really listening.

Richard faced back into the room. "Is, uh, Lois around?"

Jimmy jerked his head back vaguely towards the vending machines. "She went to try and get some feeling back into her hands."

Richard left Jimmy in peace at the buffet table. On his way out of the Conference room, he caught sight of her. She was in the corner, over by the screen projector, leaning against the wall. Her hands were wrapped around a large cup, but she wasn't drinking it- she was kind of snuggling it, watching the room. Richard saw that she still had tiny flakes of snow caught up in her hair. The thought came to him that he had never seen anyone looking so achingly beautiful and so sad.

Lois didn't see Richard until he was about ten feet away and emerging, mirage-like, out of a crowd of bodies. At first she didn't recognize him. Her eyes travelled to the top of his head- what with the antlers, he was quite a sight. And rather than walking towards her in a normal manner, he was swaying towards her, lip synching, in time with the music;

'_Last Christmas, I gave you my heart but the very next day, you gave it away. This year, to save me from tears I'll give it to someone special.'_

Lois chuckled, shaking her head at him. Such a spectacle could only be attributed, surely, to a healthy dose of the old Dutch courage; the man was clearly drunk.

And yet, the George Michael hip swinging kept time to the music pretty well. He wasn't half-bad.

When he was close enough to speak to her, he told her, "You're not dancing."

"No," she agreed.

"Come and dance with me."

Lois grinned delightedly, "Oh! Is that what you're doing?" She wiggled a finger at him, "I thought you might've been having some kind of fit."

Richard placed a hand to his heart and tried to look genuinely wounded. "A low blow." He offered his hand. "Come on."

Lois didn't move to take it. "Oh, I don't think so."

He held up a finger. "One dance- you owe me."

Her right eyebrow lifted. "I don't owe you anything."

"You lied to me."

"I didn't lie. About what?"

"Saturday night. You told me you were busy."

Lois clucked sadly, looking at the antlers, "You know. It's so hard to take a man's grievances seriously when he's wearing flashing reindeer lights on his head."

Richard carefully removed the hot drink from her hands and set it down. "C'mon."

Despite loud protestations Lois allowed herself to be pulled on to the dancefloor. And then she allowed Richard to take one of her hands in his and place his other hand at her waist. They danced. And the thing was, it was nice.

Richard bent closer. She could smell his aftershave and feel his breath on her ear. "It's okay, anyway. I forgive you."

Lois scowled but humored him anyway. "Forgive me for what?"

"Lying to me."

"I didn't lie to you. I was," she hesitated, "letting you down gently." She felt Richard chuckle. "Anyway, you didn't seem too broken up about it in the store."

"That's because I'm a gentleman and a master at disguising my bruised feelings."

"I see."

"Just call me Mr Sensitive."

"Right. Mr Sensitive, yeah. But I'm sure your date helped."

Richard leaned back to look at her. "Excuse me?"

"Mending the damage inflicted on your delicate sensibilities." Lois squinted at him, "All those bruised feelings."

They continued to move with the music. "My date?"

For a second, Lois was unsure of herself. "Yeah. The uh... woman."

Richard was regarding her with a strange expression on his face and for the first time in the conversation Lois felt uncomfortable. "That you were with. 'Richie'?"

Richard's expression cleared, a grin lighting his face. "Oooh, you mean my sister."

Lois stopped. Flatly, she said, "Your sister?"

Richard was intrigued. "I had a spare ticket. Felicity drew the short straw."

They started moving again. "Your sister." Lois looked peeved. "You might've made mention."

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were so busy jumping to your erroneous little conclusions."

A little too fast Lois shot back, "I wasn't jumping to anything. I couldn't care less."

For a while they didn't say anything else. Richard let the air between them settle. "So, who's Miss Blodgett, anyway?"

There was no reaction. Lois said, "No-one. A friend of mine."

"She wears nice pajamas."

To her annoyance, Lois felt herself blush. Oh, this was definitely the Dutch courage. "She's got a pretty good right jab too, so I'd watch your step, Mr Sensitive."

"Although I have to admit. I had you down more as a negligée kind of girl."

Negligée! Lois was too shocked to laugh. She leaned back to stare at him. "Richard White. What on earth has gotten into you?"

"You."

All of a sudden, in the middle of the dancefloor, the easy, tingly, flirty part of the evening was gone. She felt the smile fade from her face. Richard was no longer smiling either. His eyes were dark. Lois said the first thing that came into her head. "We're right underneath some mistletoe."

Richard was watching her lips. "How about that?"

It was hard to tell, but she was almost certain he was about to lean in and kiss her. Before she could decide how she felt about that they broke apart because someone was calling her name.

"Lois!" Perry's face was intermittently visible between people's heads. Through the throng, he yelled, "My office!" He stepped away and returned again. "You too, Jimmy!"

Behind Lois and Richard, Jimmy drooped and let his plate of food lower, forlornly, back to the table.

--

They sat next to each other, side-by-side. It was a familiar experience. This time though they were not in Lois's car. They were in the open, empty space of an expensively furnished lobby. The lobby of the LexCorp Tower.

"Define irony."

"'Irony'," Lois said. "Something that's not quite steely, and not quite brassy. You know;" she bobbled her head, "kind of goldy."

Jimmy was looking around. "I can't believe we're in here."

"I know."

They lapsed into silence again. The same thing was on their minds but it was Jimmy who said the words.

"Do you think it's Luthor?"

They looked at each other. The honest answer was that Lois could not discount the possibility, however unlikely. So Luthor was awaiting trial- so what? Men like Luthor had minions. They always had minions. It was possible he was back in business. Maybe all the rumors were true; the mystery take-over wasn't a take-over at all. And yet... "I don't know," she replied honestly. "Calling up Perry? Requesting me specifically? The cloak-and-dagger stuff's got his fingerprints all over it but..." She nodded over to the entrance doors where a white-haired gentleman in a pressed suit had greeted their arrival and then disappeared, "A butler?"

Jimmy's eyes roamed the room. "Whoever they are, they must be rich."

"No kidding. I think that's a genuine Rothko."

Jimmy followed her gaze. She was looking at a very large painting that was mounted behind the empty reception desk opposite. The canvas was blue. On the canvas were three rectangles of slightly different tones. Which were also blue: that was the painting. As Jimmy squinted and turned his head to one side, Lois fidgeted with her fingers on her lips, thinking outloud. "The question is; why now? And on Christmas Eve?" She raised an eyebrow, "Whoever they are, you've got to admire their confidence."

Jimmy nodded. He checked the time on his phone again. "My mom is going to be so pissed."

Lois squeezed his forearm. "You should get going. You've gone above and beyond these last couple of weeks."

He looked back at her seriously. "I'm not leaving you."

Footsteps across the marble flooring heralded the reappearance of the man who had let them in. Out of the side of her mouth Lois whispered, "Uh-oh. Here comes Jeeves again."

Jeeves came to a halt before them and bowed slightly. "So sorry for the delay. My employer is almost ready to see you now."

Lois was unimpressed. An audience with the new proprietor of the LexCorp building; this was the scoop every last hack in the business would've killed for. But she'd been at this particular waiting game too long. They were being yanked around and it was starting to get very tiresome. "What do you mean 'almost ready'?"

"He's a very busy man, Miss Lane." The butler held his hand out in the direction he had just come. "Please."

Lois didn't move. "Our editor was told we were to be here as a matter of urgency."

The butler placed his hands behind his back. "Yes."

"We've been sat here twiddling our thumbs over an hour."

"Yes."

Enough was enough, exclusive or no. Lois rose to her feet to leave. "Come on, Jimmy."

Disarmingly swiftly, the butler moved slightly to his right, blocking Lois's path.

"Would you step out of the way please?"

"I'm afraid I can't."

Lois moved in closer. "Hey; Grandpops." One white eyebrow arched. Lois spoke very softly, "it's real easy. You get out of my way. Or I'll make you get out of my way."

Entirely unperturbed the butler allowed himself a pained smile. "Oh dear. I'm afraid I've not made myself very clear. I can assure you, my employer will be here imminently."

"Who's your employer?"

"If you would just come this way." Again, he held his hand out.

Lois narrowed her eyes. She made a decision to trust her instinct. She backed off, and the butler gave another small nod. When both Lois and Jimmy moved to follow his lead, the butler stopped.

"I'm sorry. Just Miss Lane."

Pulling himself up to his full 5' 7 Jimmy shook his head. "I don't think so."

Lois's mind was working. "Jimmy, it's okay."

"Lois-"

"I'll be alright."

They exchanged glances. Quietly, Jimmy said, "Are you sure?"

She flashed him a smile. "Get home." She rooted around in her purse for her car keys. When she pressed them into his hand she held him there. "I'll call you when I'm done. Promise."

"I'll be waiting back at the Planet. I'll come get you."

From the corridor in front of them, from the shadows, there was a deep voice. Jimmy recognized it from the television.

"That won't be necessary Mr Olsen. I'll make sure Miss Lane gets back safely. Personally."

The man stepped into the light. Jimmy gasped. "Whoa my gosh."

The owner of LexCorp Tower was stood hands in pockets, staring at Lois. "Hello, again."

Lois stared back. "Hello Bruce."

--

Bruce watched her while she applied the finishing touches to her note-taking. He noticed that she had a habit of chewing her lip when she concentrated. He peered over to see what she was writing.

"There's a 'U' in 'Entrepreneurial'."

"Thanks." Lois corrected the word and carried on scribbling.

"Before the 'R'."

She stopped, went back, corrected her spelling again. "Thanks."

"The other 'R.'"

She tweaked her head, deliberately drew a line across her aborted attempts and rewrote the word in full. She said thanks. This time with more edge and less gratitude.

"The other 'R.'"

Lois flipped the pad closed. "You know what? I'm going to finish these notes later." She went through the business of packing her things away. They were riding in the back of his limousine. They pulled up in some traffic. Christmas lights from the street outside shimmered, their soft glow playing on her face, reflecting fairy dust into the hazel of her eyes.

He must be crazy, Bruce thought.

She clicked off her dictaphone. "And now for my first question."

Bruce looked at the dictaphone in surprise. "I thought we just finished?"

"Those were the answers to the questions from the version of this meeting that my editor's actually going to be able to print."

"Ah."

"And now I want the truth."

Bruce nodded. "I see."

Lois smiled sweetly. "What are you doing here?"

Bruce's eyes shifted left and right. He looked at himself. "Right now?"

"In the city."

"Oh." He raised a hand. "It's a beautiful town."

Lois fixed him with a steady glare. "You hate Metropolis."

Bruce frowned, "Who told you that?"

"Clark."

He bobbed his head. "I don't 'hate' it." He picked his words, "It's just very... clean ...and ...shiny and," a tiny smile played on his lips and he looked at her, "...boring."

She asked again, "So what are you doing here?"

Bruce stretched his arms out in front of himself before re-lacing his fingers in his lap. He lifted his thumbs. "Well, it's like I explained in the interview Miss Lane. With the demise of the LexCorp business empire, I, and my associates at Wayne Enterprises, felt there was an opportunity for us to expand our reach into new areas. To utilize new markets. We're very pleased to announce the opening of our newest branch of the company, here, in your wonderful city."

Lois eyed him. "Is there, like, a special finishing school for superheroes? Or does the cagey evasiveness and prevarication just come naturally?"

He laughed. She waited pokerfaced and patient.

Bruce sucked in a breath. "Clark asked me to keep an eye on you."

Lois slapped a palm flat onto the armrest and stared out of the window. "I knew it."

"He worries about you."

"Yeah well. I guess we all have our crosses to bear." She moved her bottom jaw in annoyance before turning back to him. "All that time it was you. That takeover's been the talk of the town." She jutted a finger to gesture outside. "I just spent the last three weeks of my life staking out that stupid building. Do you have any idea how much time in a car that is? I've got three words for you; deep-veined thrombosis."

"That's actually one word and a hyphena-"

"Me and Jimmy were so bored we held _themed_ games of Six Degrees of Separation! _Themed!_ _That's_ how bored we were."

Bruce looked sympathetic. "Yes. Just bad timing, I'm afraid. This is the first chance we've had to get up here since the sale went through. Time of the year, I guess." Lois looked unmoved. "But hey!" He flashed her a winning grin, "Jim Varney in Toy Story; not bad."

Lois almost said thanks. Then she blinked a couple times. "You bugged my car?"

"Please," Bruce scoffed. "It's just a simple microphone array. Rigged to cover a half-mile radius. It's standard for all Wayne Enterprise holdings." He leaned in to reassure her. "I'm a very busy man."

Lois was nearly speechless. "You bugged my car."

Bruce shrugged. "I was monitoring the situation."

"You bugged my car. Is that even legal?"

"You were spying on me."

"You were spying on me!"

"Yes," Bruce agreed with equanimity, "and I think there's a moral lesson in there for all of us. And anyway." He coughed. "You started it."

Lois shook her head. "How?"

"By sitting there on the world's least effective surveillance operation."

Lois gasped indignantly. "YOU started it by buying the building in the first place and being all secretive and mysterious. You want to know how I'm doing? How I'm _getting along_ without him? Pick up a phone." She slumped back, arms folded. "I can't believe you bugged my car." After letting it all sink in a look of worry suddenly passed over her face. Slowly, she sat back up. "Wait. What else did you hear?"

Bruce held his palms out to her. "I know what you're thinking; Saturday morning, all by yourself, one thing led to another- Perry Como. But don't worry- these lips are sealed." He paused, clearly enjoying himself, and leaned in, "Although, as a point of interest, I might add that you have a lovely singing voice."

Darkly, Lois insisted, "There's nothing wrong with Perry Como. Winter Wonderland is a classic," even as her cheeks burned and she fervently hoped her a capella sing-along had been deleted from the digital record. By the look on Bruce's face she strongly suspected this was not the case. Jimmy wanted to talk about irony- she had been staking herself out!

Exasperated, outloud she wondered, "You bought an entire building? For me?"

By way of explanation, as if it was the kind of thing friends did for each other all the time, Bruce simply repeated, "Clark asked me to keep an eye on you."

On one level, Lois felt that she should be flattered. But somehow the idea of Clark exerting any kind of sphere of influence over her, indirectly or otherwise, all whilst maintaining this comfortable, polite, no-strings distance, was incredibly frustrating. Actually, it annoyed the hell out of her.

She sighed deeply. "What are you going to tell him?"

"What do you mean?"

"After this little meeting." She crossed her legs. "I assume you're going to be getting in touch? Reporting back?"

"We'll probably catch up sooner rather than later."

Lois gazed out the window. "When did you last see him?"

"Last Wednesday." Bruce watched her. "He dropped by the mansion on his way back from Metropolis."

Her head snapped back to face him. "He. He was here? On my birthday?"

Bruce cocked his head at her. "Do you remember what the weather was like last Wednesday?"

A line formed between her eyebrows as she thought about it. "Sunny."

"Do you know what it was like everywhere else?"

She shook her head that she didn't.

"It was miserable. In Gotham they issued a weather warning."

Lois was not really sure what he was getting at.

"Don't you think that was weird? A storm front right across the Eastern seaboard? Everywhere. Apart from right here in Metropolis?"

Lois's eyes clouded. "Clark did that?" Her head bowed while she fiddled with a button on her coat. "I didn't see him. I wasn't sure that he remembered."

Bruce rolled his eyes. Remembered? The man was a walking repository of Lois Lane information. He remembered everything. Every conversation, every argument, every habit and every quirk; every second he had ever spent with her. And he was able to recall it. In masochistically minute detail.

Lois forced a business tone back into her voice. "I guess he heard about the trial then?"

"Luthor?" Bruce nodded lightly. "He mentioned it." He picked something off his knee. "He was really more interested in how you are."

"And what did you say?"

"I told him I wanted to talk to you first."

"Well," she smiled, "here we are." Her eyebrows lifted. "Talking."

"Yes."

They had come full-circle. "So what are you going to tell him?"

Bruce studied her. "What would you like me to tell him?"

She turned back to the window. "That I've been asked out by, like, twenty different guys since he's been gone, and they've all been really good-looking."

"Okay."

"And that if he really wants to know how I am, he can come and ask me himself, instead of sending someone else to do his dirty work."

"Okay." Bruce ran his thumbnail along the line of his chin. "The part about the twenty guys. Is that true?"

One of Lois's shoulders lifted. "My next door neighbor invited me over for coffee last month."

Bruce nodded. "And is he good-looking?"

"He's eighty-seven years old." There was a pause. "And he's a she."

"Oh."

"Mrs Eckler. I looked after Misty while she visited her son."

"I see," said Bruce. "Misty?"

"Her cat."

"I see."

Lois nodded, still staring out the window. "She baked me a tub of cupcakes that spelled out 'Thankyou' when you lined them up."

"Oh, that's nice."

Lois shifted her body round to face him. "When you're relaying this conversation back to Clark, could you... edit this part out?"

Bruce solemnly inclined his head, closing his eyes. "Consider it done."

Lois went back to playing with the buttons on her coat. She chewed on a lip in preparation for asking the question she had wanted to ask ever since the lobby. "So," she said, giving in. "How is he?"

"He's..." Lois looked up expectantly. Bruce could only sigh, lift a hand- answer honestly, "Clark."

She nodded, her face falling a little. Beyond that she remained unreadable.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Softly, Bruce said, "Sure."

"Do you ...ever see yourself..." Lois hunched her shoulders and then let them drop, "settling down?"

"Settling down?"

"You know. Marriage. Kids. PTA meetings. The whole thing."

"Sure I do," Bruce answered confidently. "In my worst nightmares."

She gave him a withering look. Under it Bruce relented, "I suppose, I'd be lying if I said I didn't think about it. Sometimes."

"I mean, it must be an issue for you, too."

"What must?"

Lois opened one hand, "This. Leading a normal life, wanting what other people have." She was quiet. "And then, having to deal with-"

"The other job?" They looked at each other. "I think, there's a balance to be struck."

She nodded but didn't say anything.

Bruce squinted. "It's different for him, you know."

Something passed across her face. "Is it?"

The car rolled to a stop. Bruce looked past her, and nodded. "We're here."

Together they stared out of the window. Snow was falling again. It fell lightly and unevenly now, wisps of white, taken by the breeze, catching the streetlight. Up the steps, across the plaza, the distinctive art deco edifice of the city's favorite newspaper disappeared up into the night.

"So. This is the world famous Daily Planet."

"Yup."

"You must be proud to work there."

Lois nodded. "Comforting the afflicted and afflicting the comfortable since 1793."

"Wow, you look good for your age." Behind her, Bruce grinned.

She tsked but was grinning too. "I do. I am. It's a privilege."

"It's a magnificent building."

Lois turned her head to raise an eyebrow at him. "High praise from the man who now owns the city's most expensive piece of real estate."

Bruce pointed. "Did you know that the dimension of each window was determined by the size that could be most easily opened by a single office worker?"

Lois regarded him, smiling. "I didn't."

"The globe on the roof is a scale model of the Earth at a ratio of one to one million." Bruce took his eyes off the building to tell her, "Real glass." He continued, "It was designed by the architects to revolve on an axial tilt of twenty-three point five degrees, just like the Earth. It was only when the architects invited Howell up for the first official presentation that anyone noticed it was turning the wrong way. What?"

"Nothing." He saw something in her eyes flicker. "You just sound like Clark."

He grinned widely. "How do you think I know all this stuff?"

Bruce ducked his head to get a better view, straining his eyes upwards towards the top of the building. "And that's where you guys met, huh?"

Lois nodded. "Yeah." She smiled shyly. "Twice."

Bruce kept his eyes on her. "A site of historic importance."

She chuckled. "You're giving us waay too much credit- we report the news, we don't actually make it." Lois considered her words. "Well. Except for that time Jimmy tripped down the stairs on the Tonight Show. Did you see that? All over the internet. Apparently you can watch a version with lightsabers now."

"I meant that's where Clark first introduced Superman to the world- by saving you."

She gazed out the window. He heard her say, "I never thought about it like that."

Bruce licked his lips. "I know how much he enjoyed working there."

"Just not enough to stick around, I guess?"

For a few moments they were quiet. Then suddenly she stirred. She took a breath, and seemed to gather herself up. "Look, Bruce. When you see him. When you see him; just tell him... Could you just tell him..." Unable to continue, she stopped and only shook her head at herself instead. "Oh, nevermind." With her eyes cast down she sniffed and brushed her hand off her leg. "I don't know. Just make sure he's eating his vegetables."

"Oh, you reminded me!" Bruce remembered part of the reason he was here in the first place. Clark would've gone _nuts_. "There's a couple of things." His face took on a school teacherly expression. "I'm supposed to check that you're still not smoking?"

She dutifully produced her emergency pack of nicotine gum for him to see.

"Good. And," he turned behind himself to pick something off the seat, "he asked me to give you this. Merry Christmas."

He handed over a gift-wrapped box tied with an extravagant bow.

She rested it in her lap. "What is it?"

Bruce frowned at her. "It's a Christmas present."

Lois clucked, fingering the bow. "I feel like I've been ambushed. I didn't get him anything."

"He said if you said that, to say 'Happy Birthday! It's a late birthday present.'"

She paused. "I thought the blowing the clouds away thing was my birthday present?"

"Oh, I wasn't supposed to mention that."

"Do you know what it is?"

"Aren't you going to open it?"

She read her watch. "It's not Christmas yet."

Bruce threw her a sympathetic glance of understanding. "Oh, you're one of those people."

"I'm not one of _those people_- it's just not Christmas yet."

"Will you open it already? I'm the guest of honor at a Chamber of Commerce thing an hour ago."

Lois grumbled, but only as a matter of consistency. She peeled away the paper to reveal a new orange juice squeezer.

Watching her face, Bruce spoke softly. "He mentioned something about making sure you keep up your daily intake without him."

Lois was unable to keep the wobble out of her voice, "He's such a dork."

"You know, you two really are something."

She looked at him.

"'Is he eating his vegetables? She needs to drink more orange juice,'" Bruce smiled brightly, "you're so dweebily in synch with each other, it's adorable."

Lois was more sceptical. She picked at the edges of the wrapping. "We're compensating a passionate love affair by checking up on each other's dietary habits." She looked perturbed. "Have you ever known anything any more pathetic?"

Bruce shrugged. "I guess it's a fine line you both tread."

She smiled and collected everything together before putting her hand on the door handle. "Can I expect this little... drop-in to become a regular occurrence?"

He flashed that movie star grin again, "Missing me already?"

She waited for him to be serious.

Aware of sounding just this side of acceptably patronizing, he said, "I'll be visiting, from time to time. Just making sure you're okay. You lead a..." Bruce searched for a term that would adequately replace 'kind of accident-prone', "...above averagely busy... lifestyle."

"I guess I'll see you, then."

His eyes glinted. "Oh, I didn't say that."

She rolled her eyes as she stepped out onto the pavement; superheroes. Never a straight answer when something wry and dry could be enigmatically quipped instead. Maybe _there was_ a finishing school?

She had not quite reached the first step before she heard Bruce shout her name. She turned to find him standing by the open car door. He called, "If you think he's coping any better than you; you're wrong."

The wind tugged at her coat and pulled at loose strands of her hair. A small smile appeared on her lips. She was grateful for what he was trying to do, but she failed to see the difference it made. "Bye, Bruce. And thanks." She lifted the box in her arms, "Merry Christmas."

Bruce watched her carefully mount the plaza steps. Alfred joined him.

"Grand-pops." Alfred pronounced the word carefully, his cutglass accent emphasizing his diction.

"I know. She's really something, right?"

Alfred's expression remained unchanged. "I trust Mister Kent knows what he's doing?"

Bruce stuck his hands in his pockets. "You know Clark."

"Yes," Alfred sighed with just the slightest tinge of regret. "That's what I thought."


	10. Chapter 9

**A/N: I've not had a chance anywhere else to say this so I'm sorry it's a little after the fact, but I just wanted to give htbthomas her props for organizing the Movieverse FanFiction Awards and to thank everyone who voted for my stories. It's very humbling. I write for my own amusement, but it really is a complete thrill to bring you all along for the ride. Thanks!  
**

**Hope you enjoy the chapter. **

* * *

In the end, they missed each other by a day. Now that he was back, Clark sat fretting at his computer screen.

He spent ten minutes with his hands hovering over the keyboard, failing to come up with an appropriate way to sign the email. This would be the first contact they had shared in almost a year. He wanted to get it right but he was struggling to find the words. In reality, there were no words. The words did not exist.

It was a frustrating concept for a writer to come to terms with.

Maybe it was better to just send along the document and have that be it? Or was that incredibly rude? Then again he had already broken her heart- what was the worst he could do now?

On his desk, at his elbow, there was a copy of this morning's Planet. The banner headline read: LUTHOR JAILED.

Everything had happened very quickly. The trial didn't quite last two weeks. On the Monday of the second week, five days ago, the last round of witnesses had been called. They included Oval Office staffers and members of the President's security detail. On the Tuesday, Lois was summoned to give evidence. On Wednesday, Superman was called to take the stand. They had missed each other by a day.

Twenty-four hours ago- the Friday- Lex Luthor was handed two life sentences with no possibility of parole. When the decision was announced live on the news, his mother had embraced him and Clark's overriding emotion had been one of relief. The rest of the world still awaited Superman's reaction, and there was only one person who was going to get it.

Clark opened the document and re-read it a last time before attaching it. It was formatted as a transcript- a Q and A he had conducted on himself by himself that he hoped anticipated all the information she might need for an exclusive interview between Lois Lane and Superman that would never and had never actually taken place.

Crazily, the hardest part was now. Signing the damn thing. The last words she had spoken to him had been through tears, and this was contact she hadn't asked for and was not expecting. He sighed. He hoped she would have use for this- that it would be useful to her. She had spent a year covering Superman stories without him, without any input whatsoever. But she was good, and reading her, he didn't think you could tell. A black thought haunted him sometimes. Is this the way they would be forced to carry on for the rest of her career? What a terrible deception for a reporter to bear. And what if someone found out? What would the readers think? Lois Lane and Superman- estranged. It would be like being told Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong had never really gotten along, or that Fred and Ginger secretly despised each other.

Opting for the neutrality of 'Clark' he had just clicked SEND when he heard someone coming up to the office. He slipped on his glasses as Howard breezed in, bright and cheerful, entirely unperturbed at the sight of Clark at his desk and at work here on a Saturday morning. But then, that was why they got on so well; they were creatures of habit.

"Hey, you're back! So," pulling the strap of his courier bag over his head, Howard went to perch himself on one corner of his desk, "what's the score with Ulaan Bator?"

Clark had been up all night and it was really too early for someone to be this chipper. And for them to be rhyming. "I beg your pardon?"

Howard gave an enthusiastic shrug. "How was Mongolia?"

For a moment Clark's mind was blank. "Oh. Yeah." The cover story. "Great."

"I thought you weren't due in until Monday?"

"Well. I uh, did everything I needed to do alot quicker than I thought."

"See everything you wanted to see?"

An enjoyable mental image of a bald, orange-jumpsuited man being led away in handcuffs replayed in Clark's mind. "I'd say so."

"Got any holiday snaps?"

Clark hesitated. Maybe he should have thought the faked vacation through a little more thoroughly? "You know what? My batteries ran out. In the middle of the Gobi desert." He threw in a 'Can you believe it?' face.

"Oh, you're joking," Howard clucked sympathetically. "Well." Both hands slapped the tops of his knees, "Good to have you back anyway." He hopped on to his feet and rounded the desk to settle in his chair. "Oh yeah. Nearly forgot."

Howard frisbee-ed over two envelopes to land in front of Clark. One was distinctively decorated in the form of the United States flag, the other had already been opened and was addressed to Frank. "What are these?"

Howard looked excited. He pointed at the second envelope, "That is a letter from the Southeast Asia Press Awards panel notifying the Gazette that its article: 'Sweatshops- Another Day In Paradise' by Clark Kent, photographed by Howard Harris, has been shortlisted for the Gold Award."

Clark grinned, delighted. "No way."

Howard nodded. "Go us, right? Today; the SAPAs. Tomorrow; the Worlds!"

Clark's smile faltered for just a second. He turned the other envelope over in his hands. "What about this?"

"_That _is your invite."

"Invite to what?"

"Frank and Sandy's beach party!" Howard held up his own envelope and wafted it in the air. "What else?"

--

"Thanks Julio. That was incredible."

Lois stepped out of the massage room and went to join Lucy by the pool. She settled into the lounger next to her sister. "This was such a good idea."

Light reflected off the surface of the water and played on their faces. Lucy's was still shiny from the sauna. In matching monogrammed terry robes, and with their hair pulled back into ponytails, the two looked very young, and very much like sisters. Lucy was sat up reading a thick well-thumbed paperback. She gave Lois a distracted smile.

Lois looked around. "This is really nice."

"It is."

She lowered her voice. "Very swish."

"Mmm." Lucy agreed.

"We should definitely do this more often."

"We should."

"Thanks, Luce."

Lucy lowered the book without losing the page. "For what?"

"This."

Lucy smiled that it was no biggie, "It's not every week your sister is asked to take the stand and give evidence to the Supreme court; I thought you could do with a little pampering. Besides," she reached over to pat Lois gently on the hand, "I love spending time with you. Sisterly bonding."

Something about the over-compensatory tone of Lucy's voice alerted Lois. She squinted in suspicion: "David and the kids are away, aren't they?

Lucy removed her hand and re-took up the book. Normal service was resumed. "Yeah."

"Camping?"

"Yep."

Lois nodded. Lucy continued reading.

Lois resolved to just sit here, and to be still. To revel in the peace and the stillness. Over on the other side of the pool there were a couple more guests, two older women, both wearing some kind of face mask. From here it was impossible to tell whether they were asleep or not. She cocked her head. Or dead. Lois stretched back into the lounger, and tried to shut down her mind. For a little while she waved her flip-flopped feet around, playing peekaboo with the pool.

After about a minute she simply gave up and craned her neck at Lucy. "What are you reading?"

Without breaking concentration Lucy held the book up and angled it to display the cover. Out loud Lois read; "'The Fragrant Dew of Glorious Knowledge. Tibetan Poetic Songs; An Anthology.'" Raising her eyebrows, Lois reached to try her luck with a thick glossy magazine from the complimentary collection between them. "Real page-turner, huh?"

Lucy tutted. "It's very good. It's a beautiful genre."

Lois studied the contents page of a magazine titled, 'Home and House'. "How are the classes going?"

"Not too bad." Lucy laid her hand against her chest, "Our tutor says my accent is very authentic."

"Is that right?"

Lucy cracked the spine of the book in the air in preparation and cleared her throat to read out an extract in Tibetan. "Bla ma'i rnal 'byor ye shes mchog sbyin, bla ma'i rnal 'byor ye shes mchog stsol."

In the face of such provocation Lois gamely resisted the temptation for sarcasm and a cheap shot about the universal translator. "How ...lovely. And what does that mean?"

"It's from an ancient poem; 'Sji ro po ngam'. Do you know what sji ro po ngam means?"

Lois licked her thumb as she idly flicked through the magazine. "Land of the Open Sky."

Lucy stopped, puzzled. "How did you know that?"

"Hmm?" Lois looked up to find Lucy staring at her. "Oh." She returned her attention to the magazine but there was enough of a pause, "Someone must've told me once."

Lucy's eyes narrowed. _Someone_. If there was _one_ topic of conversation she thought would be free of any possible relation to her sister's train wreck of a love-life; it was Tibetan Poetry. "You realize it's almost been a year, right?"

Lois sniffed as she concentrated on the magazine. "I sense by your withering tone that you're trying to make a point."

"I think you've mourned long enough. It's time to move on."

Lois ignored her.

"I read the paper this morning."

"Lots of people do."

"It was the first interview you guys have done in a while."

"Yes, it was."

"I guess you don't see as much of each other anymore."

"No, we don't."

Lucy laid her hand across the page Lois was not actually reading. "Lois."

Lois lowered the magazine. "What?"

They looked at each other. "Is this really what you want to do? Push him away like this?"

Lois let her head roll back and she sighed.

"Look. What's happened's happened, and yes, it's a real paw in the craw. But Clark's gone. That part of your life's over. Don't let him be the reason you screw up the rest of it."

Lois continued to stare towards the ceiling. "Please Lucy. Just leave it."

Concern etched itself across Lucy's face. "I know you don't like to hear this. I just think it's time to carry on with your life. To make an effort with someone who appreciates how lucky he is to have you?"

Lois closed her eyes and groaned. "You have no idea what you're talking about, okay? None. Can we just let that be the end of it?"

"But you and Superman..."

"I told you. _There is _no me and Superman. Not ever." Lois's eyes opened and she fixed her sister with a glare. "And _please_ let that be the end of it."

Lois took up the magazine again like she meant it. Lucy left her book in her lap. "I worry about you."

"Well, don't."

Lucy let it lie for a second or two but Lois could feel the weight of her sister's scrutiny. "What about that other guy?"

Lois sighed deeply.

"The mariachi band guy?"

"Superman's not interested in him either."

Lucy smirked 'ha ha', and waited.

Lois relented. "What about him?"

"I'm asking you."

Lois shifted uncomfortably. "It's nothing. He's just... It's nothing."

"He hired a mariachi band to serenade you in front of your_ entire office_- doesn't sound like nothing to me."

"He carries something of a torch for me, and he appears to lack any sense of acceptable inter-office conduct." Lois attempted to counter her sister's raised eyebrow, "I, on the other hand, tolerate him and his behavior with relative degrees of embarrassment and bemusement."

Lucy studied her. "See? You like him."

"I do like him," Lois agreed. "That's exactly the point. I like him just fine. I like him very much. But there's a line there, that I'm happy with, that he insists on crossing."

Lucy turned it down a notch. "Okay- not the mariachi band guy. But it's a big wide world, Lois. You need to get out there and meet people."

Inwardly, Lois groaned at the well-worn preamble to a familiar conversation. "I really don't."

"When was the last time you went out and talked to someone, not as a prospective date thing- but just for fun?"

Here Lois desperately wanted to interject something glib- but couldn't. It was kind of a sad indictment of her life.

"You're healthy. You're not bad looking. You're young." Lucy paused, "Kinda."

"Thanks."

Lucy shrugged, insisting: "You're practically a total catch." As nonchalantly as possible, she lifted her book from her lap. "You should come along to my poetry class."

And there it was. At Lois's face, Lucy was defensive, "There are some really interesting guys there."

"'Really interesting.'" Lois repeated. "Did you know that's actually a euphemism for when people don't want to say; 'lacking in some basic social skills'? And; 'odd-looking'."

Lucy huffed at this grossly unfair generalization. Even though it did actually describe the male attendees of the class pretty accurately. "Okay, fine."

"And the answer's 'No'."

"I didn't even say anything!"

"That's because I got in there first."

Lucy bit her lip. "Just hear me out."

"The answer's always going to be 'No'. A resounding 'No.'" Lois shivered, "Just thinking about it gives me the creeps."

"She's really nice- I'm sure she would never even have brought him up if she didn't think he was suitable?"

"I don't need you to set me up on blind dates, Lucy. Especially not with some _total_ _stranger's_ loser son, for crying out loud."

"Nephew, not son. And she's not a stranger to me! We're study buddies! Anyway, I'm not setting you up on a blind date." Lucy nodded serenely, "I'm facilitating a meeting of two well-matched lonely hearts."

Lois blinked. "What are you? Love seekers dot com? Next you'll be circling the personal ads."

A suspicious silence fell. Slowly Lois's eyes crept back up. "Oh my God. You've been circling the personal ads."

"And I've got to tell you; slim pickin's." Lucy was shaking her head sadly. "Nothing in the zip code of suitable for you, there."

Lois felt her jaw slacken. She could only wonder at the kind of criteria Lucy had been applying and labelling not up to scratch. "I almost feel like I should be grateful."

Lucy waved her hands in a 'No need for your thanks, helpless citizen' gesture. "Let's just say I wasted my time so you didn't have to. But listen. We had an idea."

"We?"

"Forget the mariachi band guy, nevermind blind dates, just forget I mentioned it. David and I were talking."

Lois's eyes rolled. Why couldn't she have just let her sister alone to read her damn poetry?

"You remember that dinner party? For his thirtieth? We hired that chocolate fountain?"

Lois offered a wary, "I remember."

"Do you remember the guy you were sat next to?"

Lois scanned her memory; "He looked a little like Dustin Hoffman in Kramer vs Kramer?"

Lucy looked delighted, "With all the hair- right! Well, we were all out together on a company thing last week. And Peter was there- that's the guy's name- and he mentioned that he'd love to go out with you."

Lois remained neutral. "Out of the blue, he mentioned that he'd love to go out with me. We met five years ago, we said about two words to each other, and last week, out of the blue he mentioned that he'd love to go out with me." She shrugged, "Just like that."

Lucy hedged. "Your name came up."

Remembering it some more, Lois frowned. "Wasn't he married?"

"Well, now he's divorced. It was kind of messy, actually."

"That's great." One eyebrow on Lois's face raised. "Does he have a kid? A son?"

Lucy thought about it. "Um. ...I don't know."

Lois leaned in, prompting Lucy to lean in too. Deadly seriously, Lois said, "And how can you be sure that he's _not actually_ Dustin Hoffman IN Kramer vs Kramer?"

Lucy resettled herself in the lounger. "When you're ready to be serious, I've got his card. He's not lacking in social skills, he's not 'odd-looking', he's not looking for anything serious, and you've met him before so, technically, it's not a blind date." Lucy blinked, lips pursed. Done, she dared Lois to poke holes in her rationale.

Lois simply shook her head lightly. "You're like a dog with a bone, you know that?"

"I"m a Lane," Lucy told her accurately. "I'm not saying I expect you to go skipping along out there, throwing a daisy chain over the first man that you meet." She sighed, "Why don't you just let someone nice show you a good time?"

They looked at each other. After a moment, Lois said, "I'm tired of talking about this."

"Let's talk about something else, then."

"Let's." Lois shrugged, "How are the kids?"

"Kids are fine."

"David okay?"

"I guess so."

Surprised, Lois stopped. "What does that mean?"

"David and I..." Lucy messed with retying the bow of her terry robe. "It's kind of a sore point right now."

Lucy and David were the happiest, steadiest couple Lois knew. "You're kidding?"

Lucy reassured her that they were fine. She lifted one shoulder, "It's just a busy time- with work and things. We haven't seen alot of each other lately."

Lois's smile was incredulous, "Then what are you doing here with me?"

"Bass fishing with his parents is not exactly my idea of quality time with him."

"How is his mom?"

Lucy looked relieved. "Last scan was clear. I don't begrudge them this, you know?" She re-found her page. "It's really fine. It's timing more than anything. We just ...haven't seen alot of each other lately."

Lois was thinking. "You guys should get away."

"Oh yeah?" Lucy smiled. "Great idea. When?"

"It's summer! Whenever!"

Lucy sighed, and it was wistful. "Actually, there's this couple that have a place up in the Hamptons, a cosy little place- a cabin, really. Charles and Veronica. On the beach. It was offered to us next weekend because they want to spend the holiday with their grandkids."

"Perfect! A romantic getaway. Just the two of you."

Quietly, Lucy scoffed.

"What?"

"What about the kids?"

Lois stared at her like she was being incredibly obtuse: "I'll look after them."

"No, it's not that. And it's very sweet of you to offer ...But we kind of promised them a proper celebration this year."

Lois rolled her eyes, "I can give them a proper celebration! Hey- why don't they come up and stay with me in Metropolis!"

Lucy looked as though she was on the edge of saying yes. "I don't know... I'd have to talk it over with them."

"I'll take them to the East Street Fireworks Festival; they'll have the time of their lives."

Lucy frowned at her sister. "Are you sure? Or are you all zenned out, and this is Julio's scalp-message talking?"

Lois flapped her hand, "I'll pick them up on Friday. It'll be great. You're right; after last year- I totally owe them." A memory floated up and she smiled and murmured, "Although the chocolate volcanoes were alot of fun." The memory crystallized. All four of them scrubbing to remove the cocoa butter 'larva flow'. "But I don't think we'll microwave them this time."

Lucy stopped reading and blinked. "What was that about the microwave?"

Lois sank lower into the lounger. From behind her magazine, she said, "Read your book."

--

Monday mornings during holiday season were always a busy time for Sandy. If it wasn't a local hotelier on the phone asking for more ad space, it was someone from the police department reporting another tourist incident. But this was definitely the busiest the paper had ever been. It was getting on for lunch before she got a chance to break off and head up to the newsroom. She homed in on him as he was scribbling the address on an envelope.

Clark re-checked the postal details given on the website for Dr Mathew Collins- Emergency Relief Co-ordinator, Mogadishu, slipped in the article clippings, licked the envelope and was scraping his tongue to get rid of the tacky taste when her shadow fell across his desk. He lifted his eyes to find her smiling at him.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"How was Mongolia?"

"Great, thanks."

"That's nice." Sandy waved the slip of paper in her hand. "What's this?"

Clark double-checked. "...It's my RSVP. I left it on your desk."

"Yes. There's a problem with it."

"There is?"

Sandy nodded. "It's been incorrectly filled in. You seem to have crossed off the 'Yes, I'm looking forward to attending' segment of the reply."

Clark frowned. "Yes. ...I. I circled the 'No.'"

Sandy looked solemn. "That's the problem."

Clark sighed as Eko and Henry drifted over.

"What's going on?"

Sandy showed them his invitation slip.

"You're not coming?"

"Why not?"

Clark waved his hands to deal with one question at a time. "It sounds like a lot of fun, really. But I just can't come. I'm busy this weekend."

Henry appeared sceptical. "Doing what?"

"I'm dogsitting."

"_Dogsitting_?"

"That's the lamest thing I've ever heard!"

Clark looked at Eko. "Lame? I...? It's the truth."

"Dogsitting? The whole weekend?"

"Yes."

Sandy raised an eyebrow, "You can't spare five minutes on Saturday night? Just to show up and say 'Hey'? Eko's playing with his band!"

Eko bongo-ed the top of Clark's computer. Clark could only shrug.

Henry was disgusted. He pointed with his pen nib. "Man. You're as bad as Howard."

Without looking up, Howard called out, "Oi."

"It's true, man. You two are like, the opposite of fun."

Sandy turned serious. "I make allowance for Howard and his broken heart and his artistic temperament." She zeroed her gaze back on Clark, "You. I don't even know what your excuse is."

Clark opened his palms. "Dogsitting!"

She licked her lips and adopted a new approach. Clark watched as she pulled up a chair and leaned in opposite him. "Look, I get it. You're kind of shy, you're not comfortable in social situations, you don't like crowds. But that doesn't mean you have to suffer in silence, Clark; agoraphobia is a recognized psychological condition." Clark waited patiently as Sandy remained straight-faced. "And do you know what the cure is?"

Eko and Henry broke in; "Beach party!"

Clark rolled his eyes at them all.

Sandy pressed her hands to the table, "Clark, it's going to be so much fun, I can't even tell you. There's going to be people there that I want you to meet."

"Have you told him about Molly Maxwell?"

Clark's eyes flicked from Eko to Sandy. "Who's Molly Maxwell?"

She looked uncomfortable. "I was hoping to introduce you guys on Saturday."

"I see."

"Not like that," Sandy insisted unconvincingly. "She's back visiting her parents. You know Peggy and Ray? Down at the Surf Shop? She left to study at Met U and ended up staying there, I thought you two might have stuff in common? I thought it might be nice?" Sandy bit her lip. "She's really very sweet. She's a teacher."

"And she's totally hot!"

Sandy gave Henry a black look and there was an awkward silence while Clark squirmed in his chair.

"Look. If Clark says he can't go, then he can't go."

Everyone turned to Howard. Clark sent him a silent thankyou. Sandy got to her feet.

Clark looked up at her. "Maybe next year?"

She said nothing. He picked up the envelope, and called after her, "Hey, is there any chance you could add this to the out-going-"

The newsroom door was already swinging shut.

To himself, he said, "Nevermind, I'll do it."

--

Evening shadows divided Perry's office into a series of Mondrian shapes and lines. He shuffled together the papers laying neatly before him before turning his attention to the negatives.

"So Governor DePalma is a sex fiend. I wish I could say I'm surprised."

"It's the mustache isn't it? A man with facial hair like that? You're always hiding something."

"And Legal's given you the go?"

Relaxed in the chair, Lois nodded gently. "Banhart says she's got more where these came from, I've got two former secretaries begging me for a meeting, and a pile of phone records this thick, Chief."

Perry was inspecting the film by half-turning his chair and holding it up to his window. He shook his head. "What is it about high-ranking public officials and a complete lack of morality?"

"It's the complete lack of underwear that gets me. I mean, seriously." Lois nudged her chin at the images. "Why? Why do this? Your entire career. Up in smoke."

They shrugged at each other. Perry picked up the statement again. "I guess maybe some of the attraction is the danger of getting caught?" He re-read the last paragraph, "I love this part; 'I averted my eyes and backed away. But in my peripheral vision, I could still see him. Jiggling.'"

Lois nodded wisely, "Sometimes pull quotes just pick themselves."

She got up and leaned forward to take back her notes. "I'll drop this off with the boys upstairs and then I'm done. I'll have something for you before Monday's out."

Perry hunched himself closer to his desk. "Listen. Before you go." He fidgeted. "I had a meeting with Circulation today. Paula showed me the weekend's numbers." He looked up. "Best we've had for a while."

"Lex Luthor was just tried for murder. Numbers are up everywhere."

He nodded that that was true. "Sunday's edition outsold our nearest competitor at two to one." He paused. "All over the world."

She eyed him. "Just spit it out, Perry."

"Are you two planning a follow-up?"

"Superman's pretty busy these days."

He was quiet. It was her call to make. Then he said, "Clark's up for an award."

Lois kept her pokerface intact. "Oh?"

"He's doing really well for himself over there."

"He's a talented writer."

Perry's deskphone interrupted them. He picked up the handset and listened. He pressed for the connection. "How was Rome?"

Lois mouthed 'Richard'? And Perry nodded. "Oh, that's good. Yeah, no- that's just what I said." He cocked his wrist to glance at his watch. "You sure? Okay." He listened for a while longer and then rolled his eyes, "She was just leaving, actually. ...Okay. I'll talk to you when you get here." He replaced the phone.

"He's back in the country?"

"He's back in the building. He's on his way up now. He wants to see you."

Lois squinted at her boss. "What's that face for?"

"What face?"

"That face. That look of grim anticipation."

Perry's brow lowered.

Lois's expression suddenly changed. "Oh Lord, what now?"

Perry watched, bemused, as she sprang out of her chair and tugged at the cords so that the window blinds dropped down and she could peer out into the office, unseen.

"Lois?"

"Rome... Italy..." Lois was murmuring in thought. "... Italy...Rome." An idea came and she pointed at Perry, "Let me guess; a giant pizza with 'BE MINE' spelled out in mozzarella?"

Perry remained clueless. Lois returned to keeping watch. "When he came back from Amsterdam, it was tulips; when he came back from Brussels, it was chocolates. On St Patrick's Day that troupe of Irish dancers showed up- _at my desk_, Perry." Her voice was tinged with embarrassment, "Singing those songs-"

Perry remembered. "I think they were supposed to be love limericks."

"And the mariachi band? That plumbed new depths of mortification."

Perry considered this. He agreed, "He does like his themes. I wonder if he'll do anything for tomorrow?"

Lois turned, her eyes faraway. "Oh my God, I hadn't even thought about that." The Fourth of July. Who knew what that might inspire? She looked pained, "Can't you do something?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know- pull him aside, have a quiet word in his ear?" She lifted an arm; "Tell him to quit sexually harassing me?"

The color drained from Perry's face. "He's sexually harassing you?"

"Well, no." She thought about it. "I suppose it's more analogous to a Penelope Pussycat-Pepé Le Pew type of situation."

Perry simply looked back at her. "I have no idea what you just said."

She rolled a hand through the air, "You know. Unwanted amorous advances. All these overblown romantic gestures that keep knotting up my day."

Perry shrugged. "He's a big boy. Just tell him you're not interested."

"I _have_. On thirty or forty separate occasions."

"Sometimes, there's no accounting for sheer boneheadedness." Perry paused. "I have edited you for ten years."

She pulled a face and resumed her vigil out the window. "Anyway. I thought you didn't approve of workplace relationships?"

Grudgingly, Perry said, "It depends."

"On what?"

"On whether I think it's going to end well or not."

They shared a look which ended when Richard's elevator arrived on the floor. Perry came round to stand behind her shoulder so that they could both see. It was obvious that Richard was not carrying a novelty pizza. He was not even carrying a box or surprise package that might contain a novelty pizza. In fact the only thing about his person was his travel case which he was pulling through the newsroom. After stopping to pass the time with Jimmy, he continued on to his office.

Still Lois waited. Eventually Perry ham-whispered, "I think the coast is clear."

She ducked back into the newsroom and packed her things away as quickly as possible. She was heading for the elevator bank, practically home free, when he called her name.

She turned to find him trying to catch up with her. "Richard. Hey. Good to see you, but I'm just heading home." She cocked her hands like guns and gave him a double finger point, "Nice work with the Treaty coverage this week." And she was back on her way.

He jogged until he was level with her. "Thankyou, it was fun. But I'm glad I caught you."

She smiled in defeat and came to a stop.

"I've got something to show you."

Lois closed her eyes, wincing, "_Richard_. It's been a really long day and before I go home I have to go drop something off with Legal..."

"Just hold on. Here."

Her eyes opened, one at a time, as if half expecting Tony Bennett to burst in any second and belt out 'That's Amore!' Instead, Richard was holding out a postcard. Lois sagged in relief, "Is this it?"

Richard seemed puzzled. "Yes."

"Oh. Oh, how lovely. A souvenir postcard. Thankyou."

He frowned. "Aren't you going to look at it?"

Oh. She looked at it. It was not a postcard at all, but a photograph- taken at night. The sky was filled with starbursts of color which illuminated a familiar skyline. Surprised, she said, "That's not Rome."

It was Metropolis Harbor.

"What do you think?"

She peered more closely, "Where was this taken?"

"Out on the bay, last year." Richard caught Lois's eye. "If you're free tomorrow, I was thinking I could fly us out there. We could pack a supper, take a blanket, watch the celebrations from the ocean?" He raised his eyebrows, "It's beautiful."

Lois chucked her cheek. "No can do- sorry."

Richard smiled through his disappointment, inevitable as it was expected. "So what is it this time?" His eyes twinkled at her. "Laundry day? Re-cataloguing your record collection?" He stuck his hands into his pockets. With her arms crossed, she waited patiently. "Perhaps I'll bump into you hanging out in the store again?"

"I'm babysitting."

"Really."

Ignoring his tone, she nodded.

"Real children?"

"No; my Cabbage Patch Kids collection." She squinted at him, "Of course, _real _children."

Richard started to back away to return to his office**. **"One of these days, you're going to say 'Yes' to me, Lois Lane."

Heading the other way, she told him, "I wouldn't hold your breath."

"I don't give up that easily."

She called back, "So I'm discovering."

--

Under a high blue sky, Metropolis Park teemed with people. People sunbathing, people stretched out reading, people in the shade of the trees, puzzling over the crossword. Families gathered around picnic baskets, passing around boxes of juice and bottles of sunscreen. In the space in between, college students sat crosslegged, chatting and joking, sometimes throwing a frisbee, and sometimes managing to catch it. The city had come out to play.

Along the edges, couples pushed strollers with balloons tied to the handle and tried to avoid the upside down splodge of ice cream cones and popsicles that heartbreakingly littered the tarmac. A summer fragrance of freshly cut grass mingled pleasantly with the smell of burgers, donuts and corndogs emanating from the food stands that lined the walkways.

Further into the park- away from the stalls, and the face painters, and the balloon sellers, a diamond had been marked out on the grass with little piles of discarded sweaters and half-drunk soda bottles. Outside the diamond, a team of small boys stood in line watching and waiting. In the middle of the diamond, a huddle of small girls listened attentively. In the middle of the huddle, an adult was crouched, stubbing her finger into her palm.

A couple of hours ago, armed with a foam ball and bat playset, Lois and the kids had found some space and began a little game of pitch it up and catch it- Elizabeth, Zach and Phoebe all taking turns to spoon high balls up in the air for the others to field. That's how it had started. Gradually, as more families had arrived and rolled out blankets and settled themselves on the fringes of the game, players drifted over asking to join in.

At some point battle lines had been drawn and the game had evolved into an epic boys versus girls struggle for T-ball supremacy, culminating in this- the final and deciding play. As Zach waited at the plate with the bases empty, Lois called her team in for a pep talk. Her flats had been kicked off, and her aviators were up on her head. The knees of her white widecut pants were grass-stained, and there were dirt marks on her designer camisole- she was the most glamorous little league coach the kids had _ever_ seen.

She looked into the circle of faces before her; berry-red, sweat-stained, rapt with concentration. "This is it, guys. Last chance saloon; all or nothing; showtime."

Chewing hard on a piece of gum, Elizabeth nodded looking flinty- a pint size version of her aunt.

Lois squinted. "If I know Zach- and I do- whatever Elizabeth pitches, he's going to open out, throw everything behind it, and aim for Phoebe." Everyone agreed that as the youngest, Phoebe was probably the most vulnerable. Phoebe looked crestfallen- Lois chucked her under the chin, "And that's exactly what we want him to do. That's why you're going to swap places with Loretta. He's going to play right into our hands." Lois addressed the second tallest girl in the group, "Michelle; this is where you come in. You got a great arm, kiddo. I want you to switchup with Loretta and cut off anything that comes close."

Michelle, Loretta and Phoebe nodded at each other as Michelle wiped a strand of loose pigtail from her damp forehead and left behind a set of grubby fingerprints.

"Ladies. We can do this." Lois stuck an outstretched palm into the middle of the group. "Okay, hands in, everyone, c'mon, hands in." A pile of nine hands followed- one on top of the other. "Everyone together- break!"

The team scattered outwards to take up their appointed positions while Elizabeth waited, lightly throwing the ball in one hand. Standing at shortstop, Lois surveyed the field and bent forward, hands on knees, poised, ready. She could feel the heat of the sun as it beat down on the back of her neck. Somewhere close, an ice cream truck started up its siren song, but nobody moved. The twins stood facing each other. Elizabeth squinted at Zach and impassively blew a softball-sized bubble of pink gum. She popped it. Zach squinted back, his eyes covered by the shadow of the peak of his baseball cap. He cocked his wrists, the bat swaying ready in his hands, the tip of his tongue flicking out to touch dry lips. His shifted his weight. All else was still.

In a fast explosion of movement Elizabeth wound up and threw down hard and straight. Zach swung and connected perfectly, slubbing the ball right out the middle of the bat. The boys' team erupted, hollering encouragement as the ball soared through the air- heading towards leftfield, to where Michelle should've been: heading towards Phoebe.

It cleared her and she sprinted gamely after it, but it was no good. Lois turned to watch Zach hurtling past the bases, coming full tilt towards her, sprinting for home, for glory. She had been _outfoxed_. She looked back to Phoebe, then back to Zach, to Phoebe, to Zach again.

Zach was working hard, his legs and arms pumping, not far to go now, he was going to do it, he was going to make it! Elation flooded through him as he came past third and caught sight of his teammates.

Suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, he felt a pair of arms thread around his waist and bearhug him clear off the floor. "Hey? What? Hey!"

"Whoops, I seem to have accidentally reached out and grabbed you on the way past there, buddy."

Zach's legs cycled uselessly through the air as he found his breath. "Hey! Aunt Lois! What are you doing?" He struggled to get free but for someone on the diminutive side, his aunt was deceptively robust. "No fair!"

Unrepentently, Lois simply hoisted him tighter. "Gee, Zach, what can I say? I don't seem to be able to let you go."

"You... I...! Hey! _Aunt Lois_! _Cheater_!" He called out, "Help!"

With a war cry, the nearest kid- a little red-headed boy with no front teeth, led the cavalry charge. Within the space of a hastily worded admonishment to hey hey hey; mind the lace stitching, Lois, and Zach, were overwhelmed by a rushing scrimmage of his teammates. Just before they capsized, someone, and no one later could be sure whom, yelled, "Pile onnn!"

In a stampede, the girls arrived to bellyflop into the melee, and for a few minutes there was nothing but whooping and screaming, and the sound of delighted giggling as twenty children converged in a sprawling heap of cartwheeling arms and legs- and the level best royal rumble of their lives.

Eventually the shrieking died down to be replaced by stillness and panting as everyone recovered their breath. Flat on her back, right at the bottom of a pyramid of small children, Lois wriggled to untrap her left arm. Like a cork out of the bottle it came free and in her hand, somehow, she was clutching the little foam ball. She tagged Zach gently on his nearest body part- his left shin. "Out!"

She beamed at the red faces looking down on her. "Well played, everyone, well played. So, I think we'll call that a tie?"

--

Clark swooshed straight in through his bedroom window and emerged downstairs, changed back into his normal clothes. Evening sunshine lit the kitchen yellow. He'd spent the day criss-crossing the country, back and forthing between home and being joyously received at various events. One of the perks of the job. At a parade just along the road in Leavenworth, they had presented him with a giant apple pie. It lay waiting, covered with a cloth, in the middle of the kitchen table.

Down the hall, the grandfather clock softly marked time. He whistled for the dog, and Shelby loped in.

"Okay, pal. Decision time."

In one hand Clark held up a can of doggie food, the label read chicken. In the other hand he also held a can of doggie food, the label read turkey. He wiggled his hands like a weighing scale.

In answer Shelby looked back at Clark expectantly, wagging his tail.

--

Ben Hubbard licked the spoon clean and chinked it gently back into the glass. He was a firm believer that hot fudge sundaes, and Irish coffees, and steaks cooked in butter and served with a side of fried onions for that matter, were granted a special kind of immunity from affecting one's cholesterol level if partaken whilst one was on vacation.

He and Martha were sat finishing dessert in a quiet corner of a French style restaurant that was all dark wood and framed Doisneau prints, but was comfortable without being fancy. And although it was within easy walking distance of the Daily Planet building, Clark was right, it was not too touristy either. "Well, I must say, that was delicious. A great recommendation. We'll have to tell Clark."

"Mmm."

Ben wiped his mouth with a napkin. "How's your gâteau?"

Martha's fork was stabbed into the remaining half of her chocolate cake where it was held steady as she gazed off into the space above his right shoulder. "Hmm? Oh. Delicious. Great recommendation. We'll have to tell Clark."

Ben blinked. Martha continued to focus on a point somewhere beyond his head. "Martha?"

"Mmm-hmm?"

He moved into her eyeline only to prompt her to move her eyeline wider. "I get the strangest feeling you're not paying any attention to me."

"Mmm."

"Whatsoever."

"Yes," she said, absently.

"...Martha?"

"Yes?"

Very seriously, Ben said, "I think we should elope."

Martha replied, "Uh-huh," before her concentration finally broke. "Wait, what?"

He smiled gently, "What's going on?"

She leaned in as if to say something and then leaned back as if thinking better of it. "Nothing." Ben watched some inner struggle going on behind her eyes before she leaned in again and whispered, "I think I recognize that lady."

Ben turned in the direction she had been looking, "What lady?"

In a tone that made Ben jump, Martha gritted, "_Don't look_."

To humor her as much as anything, he turned back and whispered, "What lady?"

"The one behind you. At the table, with the children."

Ben went to peek over a shoulder.

"I said _don't look_!"

Ben scrunched his nose at Martha. "The one in the baseball cap?"

Just behind Ben, a young lady in a baseball cap was gesturing animatedly. From here Martha couldn't make out what was being said but the children sat with her, a dark haired little boy and two girls, were swinging their legs in their seats and chuckling into their milkshakes.

Martha was biting her bottom lip. "I think it might be Lois."

"Oh. _Oh_." Ben came forward. "Are you sure?"

Truthfully, Martha wasn't. "I've seen pictures of her- in ball gowns and cocktail dresses. At awards ceremonies, and things like that." Mentally she tried to superimpose one image onto another. "I've never seen her wearing a baseball cap. Backwards." She sighed. "What do you think I should do?"

"Well. First, I think you should stop staring."

They exchanged a look. "Maybe I should go over there?"

"Do you really think that's a good idea?"

"I feel like I should say something."

"Like what?"

Martha shrugged, "I don't know? Offer some kind of apology? 'Sorry that my son's such a big douchebag'?"

"Martha, I don't think you should do or say anything. I think you should leave it be."

Martha's fingers played distractedly at the neck of her blouse. "I'm almost positive it's her."

"What about Clark?"

Her expression cooled.

Ben said, "I don't think he'd appreciate you interfering in this."

"I'm not going to _interfere_ in anything. I just want to say thankyou for returning those clothes." Ben, clearly harboring his suspicions, pursed his lips. Martha added, "Out of politeness."

"If you're interested in my opinion, I'm telling you I don't think you should do this."

"I just want to tell her thankyou. That's all. As a courtesy."

"No, you don't; you want to make her your daughter-in-law!"

Martha scowled, "Well, what's wrong with that!"

"You don't even know if it's her?"

"I wonder who the kids belong to?"

Sensing he was losing her, Ben decided enough was enough. He appealed to the side of Martha that valued respecting people's privacy and personal boundaries over almost any other consideration, "Maybe they're her kids. _Maybe_ that's not Lois. Maybe that's just some nice young lady, and you're going to go blundering over there and interrupt some family's quiet evening out?"

"I'm pretty sure Clark mentioned that she has nieces."

Ben could see that she had that look in her eyes. "Martha. _Martha_."

Over at her regular table, Lois daintily sucked at her shake, her eyes were dancing.

"Oh, come on."

She lifted her head to Zach, "I swear, it's true." She was wearing his Monarch's cap street-style. Wisps of curly fringe fell into her eyes and she flicked them off her sunburnt face. "I can't believe she never told you."

"That's just... No way!" But Elizabeth looked uncertain. The kids were seeing a whole other side to their mother...

"Way. Pheebs;" Lois nudged the little girl with her shoulder, "you believe me, right?"

Phoebe swilled her straw thoughtfully, "Weell..."

Elizabeth wanted to get the facts straight. "A tank? A real tank? An actual tank? Like in the movies?"

Taking some more little sips Lois nodded solemnly.

Zach seemed to be teetering on the edge of believing... then... "No way!"

Lois held up her palms. "Was it stupid? Sure. Was it dangerous? You bet your heiney it was. Was it thought through? Almost certainly not. But I have to give credit to your mom." Lois's tone turned wistful; "Best darned double-dare I ever saw in my life."

"What did Grandpa say?"

Lois shot Elizabeth a doubtful look. "Say? _Say_? _Nothing_. For _weeks_. He was mortified. Can you imagine?" She tutted fondly, "I still remember the look on his face."

"Were you grounded?"

"Were you courtmartialled?"

"Did you have to pay the base back?"

Lois held one finger up to the children. "Let's just say the words 'weekly allowance' were never uttered in our household again."

"Excuse me? I'm so sorry to interrupt. Um, Miss Lane?"

Lois grabbed a menu, she hadn't given the specials a second glance. "Oh, hey, sorry! Could you give us five more minutes? I don't think we're ready to order yet."

"Oh no. I've not come for your order. It is Miss Lane, isn't it?" The waitress seemed twitchy, and a little older than usual. "...Lois Lane?"

On second glance, Lois looked more closely. Taking in the lady's appearance, she saw she had made a mistake. This was not one of the waitstaff. This was an out of towner, for sure. Lois smiled brightly; "Yes ma'am. In the flesh."

Relief seemed to wash over the stranger, "Oh, good. We weren't sure. I'm over there with my... um... friend, and I just wanted to come over..."

Lois smiled warmly. It didn't happen often, but because of the Superman connection she tended to attract this kind of fan. "No problem." She ducked down to dig around her purse for a pen. Martha was confused. From underneath the table, Lois asked, "What would you like me to sign?"

"Oh, no, no. It's nothing like that."

Lois bobbed back up, pen in hand. "It's okay, you don't have to be shy. One for the grandkids, huh? Are they big fans of Superman?"

Martha whitened as Lois pulled off the pencap with her teeth. "Who shall I make it out to?"

"No, I'm afraid I don't have any grandchildren." Ben was right, this was a bad idea. Martha put a hand to her head, "Oh dear, I'm getting this all wrong."

Lois removed the lid from her mouth to reassure the poor woman. She was obviously a little star struck. "Don't worry about it. People ask all the time. Will a napkin be alright?"

"Please, I'm sorry- I don't want an autograph. My name is Martha Kent."

The children watched in silent surprise as their aunt scrabbled to her feet, knocking her knees on the way up, and causing the chair to scrape and wobble. She snatched off Zach's cap and scrunched it between her hands. "Hi!"

For the first time in the conversation Martha relaxed and Lois watched the spark return to a pair of warm, blue eyes. "Hello."

For one mad second the only thing that Lois could think was that Clark was right; she was silver-haired. Reflexively she smoothed at her own head- she had no idea what she must look like. "Do you- do you want to sit down?"

Martha smiled, "Oh, that's very kind, but it's not necessary."

"Are you sure? There's plenty of room- we can all scootch along?" Lois made a kind of chicken wing gesture at the kids, "Everyone; suck in." Not really sure what was going on, but wanting to help, the children obliged immediately.

Martha held out her hands to stop them. "Thankyou, no. We were just finishing up."

"So." Lois's hands flapped at the baseball cap, "What brings you to Metropolis?"

"We're on a citybreak for the weekend. My friend and I."

Lois followed the direction Martha was looking. A couple of tables away, in the corner, a white-haired gentleman with halfmoon spectacles was looking incredibly uncomfortable. He seemed to relax a little when Lois gave him a wave. "Ben, right?"

Martha was delighted, but surprised. "Yes!"

Lois smiled shyly. "Clark- talked alot about you."

Martha felt herself weakening. "You too."

A thought suddenly bubbled up. Lois fought to remain calm, to keep her voice reasonable, to not hyperventilate. "Is. Is he here?"

"No, actually." Mindful that she could talk openly about him for once, but aware of the children, Martha explained, "He's all over. It's usually a pretty busy day for him."

They nodded at each other and Lois felt breath return to her again, along with an unexpected pang of searing disappointment which she did her best to ignore. "What about you? How are you enjoying the city?"

Martha's face cleared, "Oh, we've had a wonderful time."

"That's good."

"We're going to watch the fireworks on the river from the hotel."

Lois thumbed at the table, "We're headed for the festival."

Martha bit her lip. "I, uh, wasn't sure if I should come over. But, um. I just wanted to say thankyou."

Lois was puzzled. "For what?"

"Alot of things." Martha found Lois's eyes. "Returning those clothes last Christmas."

Lois shrugged it off.

"You were such a good friend to him."

Their eyes locked again. "He made it easy."

"He. You know he..." Martha stopped, torn about how much to say, how much was appropriate. She ended up settling for, "Well. He misses you a great deal."

Thickly, Lois said, "I miss him too."

Suddenly welling with emotion, Martha brushed at the ends of her eyes. "I'm sorry. I should go. I've disturbed your evening enough." She beamed at all of them, "It was lovely meeting you all."

"Mrs Kent?"

"Please. Martha." Martha said, as if that was the thing that could make it all better.

Lois smiled. "Martha." She tried to be light, "Clark;" her lips fluttered, "is he okay?"

Having composed herself, Martha repeated, "He misses you a great deal." She glanced down. "I..." Wanting to say more but knowing it was not her place, she sighed. "I'll leave you in peace. It really was so very lovely to finally meet you."

Lois nodded sadly. "You too."

Martha reached out to place her hands over Lois's. "Take care of yourself. Please."

--

They left the restaurant without Ben saying a word and Martha struggling to not cry. Out in the evening air, he held her purse for her and helped her while she unsteadily pulled on her sweater. They had moved only a few paces when Lois burst onto the sidewalk behind them.

"Mrs Kent!" She came forward breathlessly. "Tell me not to give up on him. Tell me I should wait. Tell me I'd be an idiot not to wait." Her eyes burned into Martha's, urgent, and intense, and fevered with hope.

More than anything in the world, Martha wanted to keep that hope there, to give it a reason to stay. But it wasn't fair. She could only shake her head and force her own tears away. "I can't."

Lois hiccuped in a breath and nodded. She forced a smile to her face. "It was an honor to meet you. I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay. Have a safe journey home."

Martha watched her return into the restaurant, head held high.

--

Lois pulled up in the driveway on Sunday evening just as the streetlights were flickering on. Lucy came out to meet them on the porch. As the kids spilled out of the car she asked them how their weekend went. They gabbled back at her.

"It was awesome!"

"We had roasted marshmallows!"

"I ate a cheesedog and it was this big."

An oversized stuffed toy version of Yosemite Sam travelled beneath Lucy's nose. From underneath it Zach said, "Look what aunt Lois won on the target shoot!"

"And then we all went on the Gravitator!"

"Twice!" With eyes shining, nearly bursting with excitement, Phoebe piped, "-I nearly threw up!"

Lucy made what she felt was the appropriate impressed face. "Well, that's... Wow." She kissed the tops of their heads, and called after them as they filed into the house, "Your dad's in the kitchen making hot chocolate."

Following behind, Lois skipped up the steps and they hugged. "They sure had a good time. The Gravitator?" Lucy winced, "Twice?"

Lois held up her hands. "That was actually an unintentional oversight- I couldn't get the buckle off fast enough and by then it was too late. I played it cool, though."

Lucy chuckled. "Oh, I hope you didn't go to any trouble?"

Lois stuck her hands in her jeans and bounced herself on her toes. "Trouble? Nah. We had a fun couple of days. It was nice; people kept assuming I was a responsible parent and calling me 'Ma'am'."

With a dish towel over one shoulder, and a carton of milk still in his hands David came through to the door to greet Lois and kiss her on her cheek. "I hope they behaved themselves?"

"I was telling Lucy, good as gold." Lois nudged her head at them, "And what about you guys, anyway? Have fun?"

The two of them blushed like a couple of newlyweds. Lucy pulled at one earlobe. She might as well've been tugging at a forelock. "I guess you could say that..."

Lois rolled her eyes at them. "Oh, geez. You know what? Forget I asked."

"Dad! I think we've run out of half and half!"

David called back to the kitchen that he'd be there in a sec. He turned to Lois before he disappeared to return the milk. "Can you stay? I just made coffee?"

Lois looked apologetic, "Oh, thanks guys, no." She thumbed backwards, "I should get going. I've got stuff to do."

"Well, here, before you shoot off." Lucy ducked away to pick up something from the side. She handed over a little gift bag.

Lois peeked inside, "What's this?"

"Just a little something we brought back. As a thankyou."

From the bag Lois took out a plastic shell. She turned it over in her hands. "It's a clam."

Her sister nodded brightly. "It's also a fridge magnet. From Shooby's Fish Restaurant."

Lois considered it. "I'll treasure it always."

Lucy laughed. "Get out of here."

Lois turned to go but then didn't take a step. "Actually." She fiddled with the clip magnet, snapping it open and closed. "Before I go... There was something."

Lucy held the door open while Lois stood twisting on the porch, "...About last week, at the health club."

--

Clark picked them up from the airport and brought them both back to the farm. Ben stayed for coffee but declined the offer of supper by way of a slice of apple pie. If Clark noticed there was a weird vibe around the kitchen table, or that Ben and his mother were gone for longer than usual when making their goodbyes, he didn't say anything.

Martha had made up her mind, and she was intractable. Even so, she did not broach the subject immediately. She washed while Clark dried and they stood side by side at the sink watching an orange sun melt below the dark horizon. Apart from the sound of splashing and the squeaking of cloth on dinner plates, they were quiet.

She waited until he was done with the crockery and had started on the non-breakable items before she said, "So, Lois asked after you, yesterday."

The unexpected mention of her name sent a shockwave through him that started in his heart and worked its way outwards. Clark stopped what he was doing. Maybe he had heard wrong? In a delayed reaction, he opened his shoulder to face his mother. "I'm sorry. What did you just say?"

Martha rinsed some cutlery. "I said, 'So, Lois asked after you, yesterday'." Clark watched his mother pick up and squeeze the last of the soap out of the plastic bottle and into the bowl. "We ran into each other."

Dumbly, he said, "Lois." He pointed at his chest. "My Lois?"

"How many other Lois's do we know?"

Clark was quiet. "Are you kidding?"

"No."

"Is this a joke?"

Martha frowned. "No."

"You... You talked to Lois?"

His mother shrugged. "Very briefly. Very pretty girl. And she has the most beautiful eyes." Martha tossed the used up soap bottle into the recycling and gestured to the cupboard underneath the draining board. "Can you pass me a new one, please?"

Clark was still finding his feet. His eyes flickered. "You...I... What?"

Martha explained, "We happened to run into each other- yesterday, at dinner." Patiently, she pointed, "It's that bottom shelf, there."

"And you talked to each other? Face to face?"

"Yeah, in the middle of that French restaurant you recommended. Can you believe that?"

Clark simply looked back from under a dark line of eyebrow, straight-faced and unamused. "Okay," he said. "This is where you say 'April Fool'."

--

When Lois got out of the shower, the card was still there, waiting, next to the phone.

She pottered around the apartment, tidied up the weekend newspapers, dried her hair, found one of Zach's dirty socks and made a note to mail it back to Lucy.

Eventually she stopped circling and just stood staring the card out. The card remained intransigent.

"Damn it."

She checked the time, and snatched up the phone. It rang three times before someone answered. She took a deep breath, "Hi, is that Peter?"

--

The dish towel was scrunched in a death grip in one hand- both fists now balled at Clark's hips. "How did you know it was her?"

"I don't know?" Martha's shoulders hitched, "I recognized her from your pictures. She's pretty. She stands out in a crowd."

Clark was aghast, wonderstruck in equal measure, at the incendiary nature of this information, and his mother's apparent wilful ignorance of this fact in imparting it. "Did she know that you were you?"

"I think the whole telling her my name thing might have clued her in."

Clark's mouth moved impotently before sound came. "I- I'm almost speechless?"

"Why?"

"So. What?" Clark's arm flourished through the air, "You just walked up to her? Stuck out your hand? 'Hi, I'm Martha Kent! Pleased to meet you!?'"

"Well, it wasn't quite like that." Martha eyed him carefully. "Are you _mad_?"

"And you just _happened_ to bump into each other?" He made some airquotes and syllabled out the word, "Accidentally?"

Martha quirked her head; "No, Clark. I made Ben hang around with me outside the Daily Planet _all_ day, _just_ on the off chance our paths would cross!"

"Did you?"

"_No_." She looked disgusted, "_Clark_. What's the matter with you?"

Clark could only balance himself against the draining board. "What did you say to her?"

"What do you mean?"

"To Lois- what did you say?"

Martha dried her hands on her apron. "I can't remember. Small talk."

"_Mom_."

"I said thankyou for sending those clothes at Christmas, and that it was a pleasure to have met her."

Supremely pissed off, Clark said, "And that's it?"

Martha turned to clear the table. Noisily, she stacked the dessert plates on top of each other. "Why, what did you think I was going to say? 'He's made a colossal mistake, he's just too stubborn to admit it? He spends his days pining after you but he'd rather be alone and hurting than actually _talk_ to you about it? He's a big jerk, and he's sorry'?"

Hurt, Clark flinched, but Martha simply dumped the stack of plates into the basin and rounded on him, "Because all of that, whilst true? Is- to my great and lasting regret-_ none of my business._"

Clark put his fingertips to his chest, "Do you really believe that? That this is some kind of ego trip?" His voice broke, "That it's _pride_?"

Having said her piece, Martha realized she didn't feel any better. She just felt tired. And so, so sad. "No. I don't," she answered him honestly. On a whisper, she said, "I just wish you could've seen her."

Clark nodded. Eventually, quietly, he asked the floor tiles, "So, um. How did she look?"

Martha let out a long breath. "Do you want me to spare your feelings or do you want me to tell you the truth?"

His eyes fluttered closed. "I can handle it, mom."

For a second Martha debated sparing his feelings anyway, but she had started this, and she wanted to finish it. "She looked great," she told him. "Radiant, I think you call it." Her eyes clouded and a wistful expression settled there. "She was with a tableful of children. She was in her element." Martha raised an eyebrow and smiled at her son. "A dirt-streaked face and sun freckles is a good look for her."

Clark let out a hollow chuckle, easily picturing the image, and longing for her, all at once. He let the ache in his heart swell then subside before asking the next question. In a small voice, he said, "Was she with anyone else?"

Martha watched him. "Besides the kids?"

He glanced up, feeling sick.

She made him wait. "What does that have to do with anything?"

At his reaction, Martha shook her head. "What did you expect? That letting her go like this wasn't going to hurt? Like hell? She's living her life. She's doing exactly what you asked her to do. Isn't she?"

He nodded lightly to himself. "You're right. Nevermind."

"How did you imagine this was all going to play out? Sooner or later, there's going to be someone else, Clark." She raised a shoulder. "Sooner or later, there's going to be someone else who gets to be with her. Who gets to..." She stopped and frowned at him. "Do you understand that? You understand that, right?"

"I know." Swallowing it all away, Clark straightened and then crouched back down to fetch the new dishwashing bottle. There were a couple on the shelf, one a green color, the other yellowy orange. In a new voice, he said, "Uh, do you want Apple Blossom or Peachy Keen?"

"Either is fine, thankyou."

He handed the Apple one over and Martha went back to finishing up the supper things. "I looked- I didn't see anyone. I don't know. They'd only just sat down as we were leaving."

A feeling of relief flooded through him and he was immediately ashamed.

"But she seemed okay? I mean." The word caught in his throat, "happy?"

"If you're asking me if you made the right decision- I don't know the answer to that." Martha stopped. "I'll tell you something, though. I recognized the look in her eyes; when she said your name."

They gazed at each other. "I see the same one in yours all the time."

--

**One Year Later. **

Having made her decision, Lois put down the menu and took the opportunity to look around. This wasn't really her type of place; it was too new, too niche, too full of people wearing black turtleneck sweaters and thin-framed glasses, who didn't look as though they were enjoying themselves. But she did like the hanging floaty effect of the table lamps; like little crystal balls suspended by tiny trails of gossamer thread, they were cool.

She sipped at her martini and then rubbed away the condensation from her fingertips: the lighting fixtures as high point of the evening- that was never a promising sign. But then the portents had not been good from the start. Due to some big markets-related catastrophe or other, Larry had arrived late to pick her up. Then, on the way over, it transpired he was not a Planet reader, and he kept getting her name wrong. By the time they had got to their table Lois had learned he was just getting over a stress-related illness he described only, and obliquely, as 'digestive' and by mutual consent they both left that the hell alone. He had had to excuse himself to the bathroom almost immediately and by then it was a relief to catch a break from the burden of small talk.

How did she let herself get into these situations? She sucked an olive off her cocktail stick. It was all Peter's fault. They had gone out, and had a lovely time and known immediately that that was the end of that. And everything would probably have ended there except Peter told all his single, divorced and/or separating friends about what a great girl this Lois was. And then one of them called Lois up. And it would probably have ended there except this next guy, Milo, sounded so sweet, and so polite, and so desperate for a date to the Golding-Carter annual benefit dinner that Lois had been unable to say no. And again, it had been alot of fun, but nothing more.

But then Milo knew somebody else, and that guy knew somebody else, and that guy knew Larry. And here we were, five men, five dates later. For a lot of normal women, going out with a guy was all part of an important early warning system designed to test the waters and decide whether there's any potential future in the partnership. For Lois, a lot of that fun part was sucked out. She had already found the man she wanted to be with, and it was difficult to avoid making comparisons between the person sat across the table, and the impossibly high benchmark Clark had left behind. Mostly the evenings represented simply a pleasant way of passing the time. There had been no second dates with any of them, as substitute Lois simply applied the coffee-and-dessert test.

Eventually, she had taken to viewing the dates like an athlete in training for competition, like dry runs for the day when she would feel ready to commit to a proper long-term relationship. And they were not a total waste of time; once or twice Marylin had been able to use her as an undercover stooge for her restaurant reviews.

Lois retrieved her phone to check the time. Larry had been gone at least twenty minutes. She was toying with the idea of calling up Jimmy and getting him to fake a journalist emergency when Larry returned.

"Sorry about that, Louise."

Lois smiled helpfully, "It's Lois."

In apology he sharp-shooted her with his fingers. While he looked over the menu, Lois studied him. He was not an unattractive person. He was a little older than Lois, but he was well turned-out, she liked his haircut, and he had good manners. Like all of them, he was a very nice man. A perfectly nice man. There was really just one problem with him.

"So, come on. What are you really thinking?"

For a guilty second Lois thought she might have been speaking out loud. "Hmm?"

"Appetizers," Larry smiled. "See anything good?"

--

The Bali Gazette had hired a new admin assistant to man the reception desk. Bertina, a retired lounge singer from Munich, had backpacked to Bali in 1972 and never left. The paper had leapfrogged its rivals to become the most widely-read on the island, and with its success, Bertina had been brought in and Sandy had been moved into the newsroom. It meant that she could now concentrate properly on her deputy editorial duties.

It also meant that she could now concentrate properly on finding Clark a life.

She was already sat at her desk when Clark arrived that Friday morning. By way of greeting, she beamed at him. "Good news."

"Why, thankyou. I try my best."

She leaned onto one elbow and pointed, "See? That's exactly the kind of razor sharp wit I'm expecting you to delight us all with at the party tomorrow."

Clark settled into his chair, "What are you talking about?"

"You can come tomorrow."

"Frank's taken me off the bridge story?"

Sandy nodded. Clark looked unimpressed.

"Don't worry! He's sending someone else. To take notes for you."

"Who?"

"...A freelancer."

Clark's frown deepened. Sandy definitely looked shifty. "Who?"

"Eli."

It took several moments, but eventually Clark's expression cleared. Two dark eyebrows raised above the line of his glasses frame. "Eli. The noodle guy?"

"He's never been up to Sumatra before, he's really looking forward to it!"

Clark blinked a couple of times. Surely she was joking. "You're sending Eli, the noodle guy, on a plane, to Sumatra? A major news event is going to be covered by the man that delivers our lunch- this is how you run your paper?"

"Isn't it great?" She turned to face the rest of the room, "Hey everyone! Clark's coming to the party tomorrow afterall!" She gave him a side-long wink, "You're gonna love it."

Clark opened his mouth but was silenced by Sandy's index finger. "A-buh-buh-buh! Not. One. Word. It was my pleasure." A look of concern that didn't quite make it all the way to 'genuine' crossed her face, "Unless, you know, you have other plans again this year? Dogsitting? Housesitting? ...Plantsitting?"

Clark met her eyes with an old-fashioned glare. He had to keep the appointment over in Sumatra anyway, but the rest of his Fourth of July was unhelpfully free. No other excuses readily occurred. "I don't believe my services are required this year, no."

Sandy pulled her fist in triumph. "Excellent. I've already pencilled you in on the guestlist."

Eko shouted over, "Cool, there's a guestlist? Henry, there's a guestlist!"

Sandy hitched one shoulder, "Well, no. I, I just wanted to say it."

Clark sank back into his chair. Despite the fact that he'd actually rather Sandy left him alone, he really did appreciate her efforts. "Sandy, it's not that I'm ungrateful. I just don't know why you want me there? I'm hopeless at parties. You wouldn't miss me."

Sandy scowled like that was the point. "We want you there because you're our friend. We want to spend time with you."

They looked at each other. "You see me every single day."

"We see the work you. We don't see the other you."

"There is no other me." Clark lied, extravagantly.

Howard stepped out of his darkroom. "There's no point arguing. They're tenacious."

"You're going too?"

Eko slapped Howard hard between the shoulder blades, "He's been sucked back in."

Howard nodded at Clark that it was true. "I've been corralled."

"Into doing what?"

"Flaming burgers."

"Settle down, How, he was only asking."

Howard smirked at Henry. He explained to Clark, "Flaming burgers; I've been press-ganged into barbeque duty. Just because I'm Australian, Frank automatically assumes I'm an expert with a grill and a pair of prongs."

Clark shook his head, "And you're not an expert."

Howard's eyes crinkled. "Mate; I'm an absolute _legend_. But, you know; it's the principle of the thing." He pressed his hand to his shirt, "I'm against stereotyping, on any level."

"See?" Sandy said. "Everyone's going to be there! Even Howard! And Bertina's going to sing the Star-Spangled Banner- in Indonesian."

Everyone looked at Clark. The room waited expectantly. Inwardly, he suffered. It was easier to maintain the charade of being a generally cheerful person here, in the office, where there was always the crutch of work. The awful specter of having to uphold a sustained pretense amongst strangers loomed large before him. "Guys. It's just really not my kind of thing."

Sandy was exasperated. "Clark- _it's a party_. A social gathering where the only requirement incumbent upon you is to have fun. And that's it. You don't have to do anything except be there. This isn't My Fair Lady. I'm not asking you to win a bet for me by dancing with royalty on your society debut. Just come along and hang out and have a good time." She implored him with her hands, "How hard can it be?"

He said nothing. Sandy stared at him. "I have a line of beautiful girlfriends that want to meet you. I'm appealing to your basest male desires."

Clark raised an eyebrow. Sandy bit her lip. "All our biggest advertisers are going to be there. _They_ want to meet you. I'm appealing to your impeccable sense of duty."

The waiting stretched out until Clark finally caved. With a desperate sigh at Sandy he closed his eyes. "_Fine_. I'll be there. Anything to get Professor Higgins here, off my back."

There were high pitched woot-woots and hi-tens all round. Henry rubbed his hands together, "We're going to get Clark drunk!"

Preoccupying himself with a pile of his notes, Clark muttered underneath his breath, "Yeah, good luck with that."

--

After bidding each other goodbye outside the restaurant, Larry and Lois got into separate cabs and headed in opposite directions. She didn't feel like going home so instead she got the driver to drop her off at the Planet. Everyone would have left early for the long weekend and she liked it when it was empty. She pulled off her heels in the elevator and stepped out into the newsroom. It was dusky dark, except for one office. She padded over in her bare feet and pushed his door wider.

"Hello? Richard?"

There was no sign of him. Behind her, the elevator bank lit up again and he walked out carrying several large boxes. Without a free hand, to enter the newsroom he had to push the doors open with his back. He didn't immediately notice her.

She said, "Hey."

He checked his step. "Lois." He gave her a quick once-over as he came past. "I tell ya; dress-down Thursday's just ain't what they used to be."

Lois glanced down, embarrassed. She had forgotten that she was wearing a fairly revealing wrap dress. And that she looked stunning. "Oh. I was on a date."

Richard began to flick through the contents of one of the boxes. Notes littered his desk. "Another one?"

"Yup."

"And how did this one go? Was he a dessert-and-coffee candidate?"

Lois leaned into his doorjamb and folded her arms. "It's not quite nine pm, and I'm here."

He grinned. "I'll take that as a 'No'."

Lois blew out through her nose. "I'm sad to say that Larry's dessert-and-coffee candidacy suffered a mortal blow when he insisted upon listing, in chronological order, significant battles of the Revolutionary War."

"Ouch."

She frowned, "The funny thing is I had almost the exact same conversation with Simon from the equities firm."

"Simon from the equities firm?"

"Yeah, you remember. The financial adviser. A couple of dates ago. He was a Civil War re-enactor. I'm thinking of hooking the two of them up. I think they'd get a kick out of each other."

"It wasn't a total bust, then."

Lois joined in his wry smile. "It's a beautiful thing. Helping bring people together through their shared love of military history."

"Shared idiocy," Richard muttered to himself in obvious disgust.

Lois quirked her head at him.

He looked at her. "If I was having dinner with you, and you looked like that, the very last thing I'd be talking about, the last thing _I'd be thinking _about_,_ would be historic battles, that's for sure."

Lois considered him. Softly, she told him, "You know, you're really very sweet when you're not trying too hard."

She saw him smile but he didn't stop sifting through papers.

To lighten the atmosphere that had settled, Lois gave a little cough. "So what are you doing here, anyway?"

Rather than ask her the same question, Richard held up the notes in his hands. "This? I'm compiling a survey that I'd like Subscription to mail out to all the bureaus."

Lois shifted her weight. "A survey for whom and about what?"

"The readers. Who they are, why they buy us; that kind of thing." His eyes scanned the pages before him, "I want them to fill 'em in and send them back. All part of my effort to tighten up International."

"That's a really good idea."

He smiled. "Occasionally they occur."

"We did a similar thing, a couple of years ago. To take the temperature with the tabloid re-design."

"I know."

Lois straightened. "Hey, you know what you should do? You should go down to the archives- dig out the old-"

Richard held up one of the boxes she had seen him walk in with.

"Ah."

Although he was obviously in the middle of something, Lois continued to stand in the door, watching him.

Eventually he said, "What?"

Lois nodded to his desk. "Can I see?"

"What?"

"What you've got so far. The survey."

Richard explained, "I've really just started- I haven't had a chance to order the questions yet."

Lois shrugged doesn't matter. "Come on; I love these things. I'll be your test case." Her face lit up. "Hey, if I complete the form do I get to enter for the prize?"

Richard's forehead creased. "What prize?"

"You know; the incentive. To fill in the form. Don't you have a prize?"

"Um, no."

An eyebrow raised, "You're expecting readers to send back a completed questionnaire. And there's no prize?"

"I-I suppose I just thought people would do it anyway. Do you think I need a prize?"

Lois squinted. "I think you should talk to Perry. Anyway, come on." She pulled out a chair and sat opposite him, waiting. "Question number one. Ask me."

Richard pursed his lips and tried not to notice the new proximity of her bare legs. He sat down too and in his head read the first word on his dummy sheet. He felt himself redden. "Um, I think I'll just change that to 'Gender'."

Lois watched him cross something out and shook her head. He was hopeless.

He cleared his throat. "Gender?"

"Female."

He lowered the paper. "Do you really think I need a prize?"

"Yes."

He took up the page again. "Age?"

"Twenty-seven."

"Ethnic group?"

"White caucasian."

"Occupation?"

"I'm a reporter."

"Marital status?"

Lois nodded her head once: "Defiantly single."

"Have you ever been out of the country?"

"Many, many times."

"When was the last time? Was it within the last six months?"

"Yes."

"Was it for work, or pleasure?"

Lois sucked her teeth. Now that was a tricky one. Unsure, she said, "Work, I think. It was for that scam with the jumping beans."

"Tijuana?" Richard tapped his finger against his lips. He remembered proofing Jimmy's pictures from the trip. "We'll say a little of both."

"And how do you usually travel? Business or coach?"

"Coach."

"What about for work?"

"Coach."

Richard nodded in agreement that his uncle was not a spendthrift. The chances of offering a prize for his survey were slim. "Alrighty. The next part covers some personal questions, okay? They're supposed to highlight the range of lifestyles our readers lead."

Lois nodded.

"In the space below, list your favorite leisure activities?"

Lois looked into space, "Umm."

Richard re-phrased. "How do you relax?"

"Uhh."

He frowned at her, "In your free time?"

She sighed and shrugged helplessly. "I sleep?"

They looked at each other. "We'll move on." He took a quick breath and then asked, "Describe your idea of a perfect evening out?"

"A perfect evening out?"

Richard looked intense. "Between two people."

"You mean like a date?" Lois thought about it, all her recent experiences. "Well," she said carefully, "I guess most people would say that the biggest thing is that there's chemistry."

"Chemistry." Richard repeated the word as neutrally as possible- as if it was some marvellous new insight into a pioneering scientific investigation. "And how would you define that?"

Lois opened her mouth to answer. Richard was staring at her. Wait a second. "Is this still part of the survey?"

He hesitated. "Yes."

Her eyes narrowed. "What does this have to do with international readership?"

"It's a lifestyle question, isn't it?"

She leaned forward for his notes. "Can I see that?"

He moved them away. "...No."

Lois sighed like a disappointed school teacher. "Remember what I said about not trying too hard?"

Giving in, he admitted, "When it comes to you, I can't help it."

Lois shifted in her chair. Why must he always do this? Take a normal conversation and push it to the point of 'Uncomfortable'?

"All these guys you go out with- they must be crazy! Let me take you somewhere, tonight. It's not even late! Ever been to Lendlers? They've got a dance floor made of marble."

"Richard..."

He waved his hands to stop her from talking; "Don't say no. You always say no. Please don't say no!"

"Look, I-"

"No no no! Don't say no! Just try it! Not saying no; it's fun!"

He really was hopeless.

He continued, "Not a date. Not a date. Just drinks. Drinks and that's it. Nothing else. I'm good company; I bet I'm better company than Lenny."

"Larry."

"Whatever." Richard could see that she was thinking about it, so he pressed his advantage. "I hardly know anything about the Revolutionary War."

She folded her arms. "I thought History was your major? I could swear Perry told me you graduated top of your class?"

He didn't take his eyes off her. "In American History and Politics. From Duke. I don't know if he mentioned that? Okay, I know _alot_ about the the Revolutionary War but I promise not to _even mention_ it. Not a whisper."

Lois kind of swayed in her chair.

Richard's eyes darted to the side. "Well, except for the part where I try and get you to agree to spend Saturday night watching fireworks with me."

"I really can't decide if you're charmingly indefatigable or gratingly relentless."

"I think I prefer the sound of the first one."

She squinted at him, cocking her head, "Yeah, it's definitely the second."

He laughed sadly. "I just think it's important for people to strive for goals, however unrealistic or out of reach those goals may seem."

Lois was quiet. "I guess I can understand that."

Richard was so accustomed to being given the elbow by this stage of proceedings that he didn't immediately realize he hadn't. "Wait a minute, that wasn't a no. Is that a yes?"

She sighed.

**--**

In the morning Clark was guest of honor at the Wadinata Memorial Bridge in Sumatra. Two years after the tsunami, he was being awarded the freedom of Wadinata by the townspeople. By the time he left, he guessed that he had had his picture taken with most of them too. It was a big deal for the island, and all the major news agencies were there; the Java Post, the Observer, the Timur Tribune and even Hello! Bali. But Clark made sure that it was Eli the noodle guy who got the exclusive interview.

He arrived back in Denpasar late that afternoon and wandered down to the shore. The sun was low, coloring the sky with the warm oranges and pinks of an abalone shell. It was going to be a beautiful evening. Following the dull sound of a bass-line piped through speakers, he made his way over to an area of beach that had been decorated with bunting and little American flags. There were about fifty or sixty people milling around, chatting, dancing, eating. They were all friends and acquaintances of Frank and Sandy, from every kind of walk of life; expats, locals, marketholders, hotel owners. And, of course, colleagues.

Clark caught sight of Henry in his distinctive white stetson before he saw anyone else. It was cocked at a weird jaunty angle which was explained when Clark saw that he was with a couple of ladies wearing bikinis. He looked around trying to find the others. Eko and Bertina were hanging out with Eko's band. Rebecca and a gang of older kids were down at the surf's edge playing soccer. In the direction of a plume of smoke and a tantalizing smell of barbecue, Frank and Howard were stood at a set of charcoal grills, arguing with each other.

Clark headed that way, threading himself between people and plastic tables, and trying to avoid little kids with no shoes on who were running around between legs and chairs chasing each other and bopping each other with beach inflatables. Suddenly something out the corner of his eye made him stop short, and he only narrowly avoided an awkward collision with an eight year old and a blow-up crocodile. He looked again, his heart jumping. No, it couldn't be ...Could it?

Then the lady with the dark curly hair turned around to talk to someone and Clark could see that it was not Lois.

He shook his head and kept walking. What an idiot. He had always been prone to Lois fantasies- once he left Metropolis, he had welcomed them. He saw them as a kind of ongoing equalization process between his heart and his head- a bleeding of his subconscious thoughts into his conscious as a means of acclimatizing into a way of life without her. Just recently, the fantasies had increased in regularity. And they followed a similar pattern. They almost always began in some incredibly mundane way. If he was alone in the newsroom- that's where she would appear- across from him, just typing at a computer, as if time had melted away and they were back at the Planet. Sometimes she was waiting for him at home, and as he came through the door she would kiss him and ask him how his day went; if that passenger train was okay, if Frank wanted that op-ed piece changed, if he had remembered to pick up her dry cleaning, and, by the way, dinner's ready. The fantasies almost always ended with them having hot, desperate sex.

They were ridiculous, warm, fuzzy, daydreams. And he was aware of this.

Imagining he was seeing her- _actually_ seeing her, not as a fantasy, but in the real world; that was a new thing. He was going to have to watch himself.

As he approached the food area, he bumped into Sandy as she buzzed between guests, making sure they were holding some kind of item of sustenance in their hands. Throwing her arms around his neck in delight, she planted a noisy kiss right on his cheek, "Mmwah! Just give me a sec- I'll get you a drink!"

And she was off again. He caught up with Eko and Henry at the salad bar and as they shuffled along together they pointed out all the local seafood delicacies he should try. At the grill, détente had broken out but in an act of diplomacy Clark took a slab of beef steak off Frank and a braised rib off Howard anyway, and all five of them went to find a table so they could eat together.

Afterwards, once Frank and Howard went back to their chef's duties, and Eko and Henry got up to return to their friends, Clark stayed where he was, people watching, just enjoying the relaxed vibe of the evening. It had been so long since he had done something like this. Every so often he would catch a glimpse of Sandy, but she never did manage to find him with a drink. A little later, he strolled over to the table where all the desserts were laid.

Not quite sure what he was in the mood for, he passed over blueberry shortcake, muffins, a three-tiered trifle, mounds of cupcakes, a cherry pie, and a giant sponge cake iced in stars and stripes. He was considering going for an oatmeal fudge cookie when he saw it. A strawberry cheesecake. Wistfully, he cut himself a slice and reached for a can of cream. As he shook it, he thought about Lois.

He imagined that she had made the cheesecake, that she was here, right now, at this party. The fantasy came easily. In a moment she would saunter over, in that summer dress she wore to Bruce's island, the one with all the buttons and the flimsy material. And he knew what he would do next- he knew this beach pretty well. He would take her hand and lead her to a spot, just over there- a sheltered alcove a little way along where no one else would see. He would lay her down, and he would start to work at her buttons, one by one. She would allow him to go this slowly, to tease her in this way, only because she knew what was coming next. When he was done she would pull off his shirt, and he would slide the dress off her shoulders, and they would barely be able to contain themselves any longer, and then...

"I can recommend the peanut squares."

Startled, Clark depressed the button on the can and its entire contents shot into the air and all over the table. The cream missed his slice of cheesecake entirely but the peanut squares were now buried under a soggy drift of whipped goo, and it was all over his hands. He turned to find the Lois-a-like from before.

She apologized, trying to bury a chuckle, "Whoops! Sorry, I didn't mean to make you jump."

"No, It was me. I was... thinking about something else."

The woman stood on her tippytoes to look over his shoulder. "I was just saying I can recommend the peanut squares." She smiled, "and not just because I made them myself."

Clark gazed back at them in their ruined state. "They look delicious."

Charitably, the woman said, "I think the frosting is a nice additional touch."

Clark cringed. "Sorry."

The woman smiled that no apology was necessary, and held out her hand. "I'm Molly."

"Clark." He offered his own hand but it was dripping and he quickly retracted it. "Uh..." He looked for something to wipe it on.

"Look at you. You're as bad as one of my first graders." Molly glanced around. She found a napkin and helped clean him up.

"You're a teacher?"

She nodded. "At the international school. Well. I will be as soon as the new semester starts."

He remembered why her name sounded familiar. "You're Molly. Molly Maxwell; Peggy and Ray's daughter." Off her look, he explained, "I work for Frank and Sandy at the Gazette."

Now recognition lit her eyes. "Ah, you're Frank's star reporter; the new guy."

Clark smiled crookedly. "Today is the second anniversary of my arrival. I'm still the new guy?"

A grin dimpled Molly's face, "I only just moved back into town; everyone's 'the new guy' to me." She regarded him. "So you're the mysterious Clark Kent." She turned to gesture in the direction of the rest of the party. "I hear nothing but good things."

He burned in embarrassment. Here, living in Bali, where Superman was not so prominent, the contrast did not have to be so sharp and the difference between how he let people see him and how he really was was not so great. Clark; day job Clark, award-winning Clark, was a much more conspicuous figure. It was not necessarily a bad thing but still, it made him uneasy.

Molly said, "I used to read you. Back in Metropolis."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. All those crazy exposés you did." She squinted, trying to remember, "You and that other one; ...oh, whatshername. With all the Ls..." She clicked her fingers, "The Superman one... Lois Lane!"

Clark felt his heart tighten. It was weird, hearing her name out of this stranger's mouth, when the words were used so lightly.

"You two were great. What was that story?" Molly's eyes were shining. "The one with the Oompa Loompas?"

Softly, Clark said, "I remember." In the background, behind Molly's head, something was going on by the water.

"That was great."

"Thanks." Clark said distractedly.

"Don't you miss it?"

Rebecca's soccer game had stopped. The players on both teams were stood in a line all looking out to sea. Clark zoned back in. "I'm sorry?"

"Don't you miss it?" Molly repeated. "The city- I've barely been gone a week and I miss it like crazy."

"I miss it alot."

Molly turned to see what Clark was seeing. "Is everything okay?"

He tried to return his full attention to her. "Yeah. Sorry."

Molly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and spoke tentatively, "Because I was just thinking. Maybe we could- "

Clark held up his hands, "I'm sorry, would you excuse me? I just remembered I have to go home to do something."

She managed, "Oh. Sure! I..." before Clark disappeared. "I. I'll just stand here on my own." She looked down at the table. "Eating these peanut squares with whipped cream." She picked one up and took a bite. She crunched it thoughtfully. "Not half bad."

Behind Molly, Rebecca put her hands to her forehead to see if she could spot the soccerball. In her head she began to calculate how many paper deliveries it would take to replace the ball this time.

The boy standing next to her but one said, "I bet I could find it- I'm on the swim team."

"Are you nuts? Do you have any idea what the rip tides are like out there?"

Joey, the boy stood between them, the last one to have touched the ball, bowed his head. "I'm really sorry."

Becky gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it." No one had really paid attention to the tide coming in. Philosophically, she said, "You live by the sword, you die by the sword, you know?"

A girl at the opposite end of the line wanted to know what were they going to do now.

"Beats me." As Becky considered the problem something touched down lightly behind her. "Anyone got a frisbee? Guys?"

When no one answered, she turned to the group to find all of their mouths had dropped open. "Guys?"

Slowly she rotated round to see what was behind her, what they were all staring at. She gasped. The tall figure of a man towered over her. A breathtakingly good looking man. The most beautiful man she had ever seen in real life.

"I think this might belong to you."

Superman held out her soccerball and she took it from him without removing her eyes from his. They were the color of the sky on a clear winter's morning, and they were twinkling at her. Unable to move, she simply stood there, mouth ajar.

"Someone's got quite a kick. I managed to pick it up just before it entered the Gulf Stream."

He chuckled but the children continued to stare, as if not quite trusting what was taking place before them. Clark beamed at them, "So. Is everyone enjoying the party?"

--

Lois drove down to the 23rd Street marina and parked her car in the space beside a white passenger van with the words 'Metropolis General' emblazoned along the side. She popped her trunk, lifted out and shouldered the strap of the ice box, and made her way to the waterside. The river sparkled under the mid-morning sun, she was wearing a pair of linen shorts and a sleeveless summer top, and she could already feel the warmth on her arms and legs.

A line of seaplanes bobbed in their berths. Just ahead, at the other end of the dock, about eight planes along, there was a small gathering of children with a guy in a nurse's uniform, and a man in cargo shorts and sunglasses scrutinizing a clipboard. As soon as he saw her, Richard jogged to come meet her.

"Thanks so much for this." He switched hands with the clipboard to help take the coolbox off her, "I'm so sorry to bother you, but it's kind of an emergency and I wasn't sure who else I could call."

They walked along together. "Not a problem. You sounded kind of panicked."

He didn't smile. "That's 'cause I am. Any trouble at the hospital?"

Lois shook her head, "No, they just wanted to see some ID." She paused, "And they wanted to know what happened to Julian."

"Yes. Now there is a question." They arrived at the rest of the group. Richard turned to the man in the uniform. He was a young guy and he looked sheepish. "Julian, Lois. Lois, Julian. What happened, Julian?"

Julian kind of swayed on his feet. "I forgot everyones' lunch." He added, "I remembered the meds?"

Richard rolled his eyes. The 'everyone' was evidently the collection of children. There were four boys and two girls, all of different heights and ages. The smallest-looking was one of the girls. Her hair was plaited beautifully. Lois guessed her to be about Phoebe's age. The tallest boy seemed to be in that awkward stage between childhood and adolescence. He blushed when Lois smiled at them all. It was then that she noticed he was attached to a drip. On his wrist there was a plastic wristband. All the children had them.

Richard set down the coolbox. "Good news, guys; we have food!"

Adorably, the group cheered, "Yaaay!"

With the clipboard in his hand, Richard presented Lois to them, "Let's say thankyou to Miss Lane for bringing it for us."

They all cheered again, "Thankyou, Miss Lane!"

He turned to address Julian, "Let's get this show on the road. With any luck we actually might get them back on time."

He busily signed off the paperwork on the clipboard while Julian started to help the children across a gangway and load them into the seaplane.

"What's going on?"

Richard looked up as if only just noticing that Lois was there. "Oh. We're taking the kids out for the day. Independence Day in the air, a special holiday treat." He frowned. "What?"

"Nothing." Lois's forehead was dimpled. "How come you never mentioned any of this the other night?"

"Oh, it's really a last minute thing." He shifted on his feet. "I couldn't even tempt you out for a drink. There didn't seem alot of point pressing for the plane ride again. Anyway," he shrugged, "I thought you might be babysitting again, or whatever."

"I'm not. Actually," Lois said a little awkwardly.

Richard removed his sunglasses. He glanced at the plane and then back to Lois. "Would you. Would you like to come?"

A small, shy smile crept onto her face. "Is there room?"

Richard grinned like a fool. "There just so happens to be one space left. Jules!"

Julian stuck his head out of the fuselage. "Yes, skip."

"You're on the roof, buddy."

--

The fireworks were over, and now that it was late, the party was winding down. Tiki torches lit the beach and everyone had gathered round by the bonfire. A low general murmur of talking, and occasionally the sound of laughter, drifted over to him on the breeze.

Clark sat alone with his elbows leaning on his knees, staring out over the water. It was like glass, and reflected in it was a full moon that seemed to hang just above the horizon. He remembered telling her once that they would measure the size of the moon when it had risen. And that they never had.

Someone came to sit beside him. "Penny for them."

"Hmm?"

Sandy settled next to him so that she could look out over the ocean too. "Your thoughts."

He smiled.

"Here." She passed him a bottle, ice cold in his hands.

"What's this?"

"Your drink." He looked at her and she shrugged.

Clark frowned at the label. "Root beer?"

"We're clean out of hooch!" She thumbed back down the beach, "We got wine, gin, about a quart of vodka, and thirty cartons of orange juice." She held up her own bottle, "And root beer."

After a thought, she said, "Hey, if you want, I can go fix you a Muddy Mary?"

Clark was intrigued. "A _Muddy_ Mary?"

"Like a Bloody Mary, but of my own concoction."

There was a moment's polite consideration. "Root beer's good."

They settled back into a companionable silence and sipped from their bottles. After a while, Sandy gave him a sideways glance. "You okay?"

"I'm not being very sociable, am I?" He started to get up. "We can head back over."

"Sit down, and chill out, Eliza." Clark did as he was told. Sandy eyed him, "I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

Clark sounded surprised, "I'm fine."

She nodded. Again they were quiet. Then Sandy leaned over to elbow him. "Hey, guess what?"

"What?"

In the twilight her eyes gleamed like she was about to impart a terrific secret. "Superman was here."

"No! Seriously?"

Sandy placed her hand on her heart. "Swear to God."

Clark nudged his chin towards the area of beach where Becky had been playing soccer. "So that's what the big commotion was? Wow."

"Can you believe it? At our party? Superman! Here?" Sandy was shaking her head at the wonderful, inexplicable, vagaries of life.

Clark looked back out to the horizon. "Long time, no see."

Sandy regarded him. "Oh, that's right. You guys were pretty tight back in the big city." A thought came to her. "Hey, do you think Eli got to talk to him?"

Clark considered this. "I would have thought there was a reasonable chance." He raised his eyes to the sky. "He must've dropped by on his way back from the ceremony."

Sandy looked up too, "I guess maybe the fire caught his eye."

"Probably wanted to check it complied with safety regulations and local bylaws."

She chuckled. "You know, he spoke to Becky."

A look of genuine delight passed over Clark's face. "Get out."

Sandy nodded. "Swooped right down- returned her soccerball. She says she's never going to use it again." She grinned, "She made me wrap it up in a plastic bag so that no one else's germs can ever contaminate it." She turned to face him and told him seriously, "I think you may have been replaced in her affections."

Inside and out, Clark smiled. "I guess if you're going to lose your fan club of one, it may as well be to Superman."

"Mmm." Sandy sipped her bottle. One eyebrow raised. "Good job not everyone's so fickle."

Clark caught the mischief in her eyes. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"No reason," she sang. Puckishly, she added, "It's just that it's interesting to me that Superman touches down and Miss Molly Maxwell does not bat an eyelid. When she was talking to _you_ on the other hand..."

Clark turned away, dismissively. "Be serious."

"I am. You're quite the little charmer aren't you? Quite the ladies' man."

"I'm really not."

"The aw-shucks, 'yes, ma'am, no ma'am' small town act? You're a regular babe-magnet! Admit it- that's what you do in your spare time, why we never see you."

He deadpanned, "You got me. My double life as a gigolo. My secret is out."

Sandy smiled at him. "What's wrong with Molly Maxwell?"

He frowned. "Nothing's wrong with Molly Maxwell. As far as I could tell she's a very nice person."

"Then why aren't you over there making your move!?" Sandy insisted. "She seemed really into you."

"I barely spoke to her."

"Come on! You're both unattached, single. I think you'd make a cute couple."

Clark sighed briefly. "Sandy. It's sweet of you to come over here. But I'm not going to make my move on Molly Maxwell."

She gave him a hard look. "Clark. I think you need to realize something. If you don't get out there and actually talk to women? You're going to struggle to form a fulfilling relationship."

"I can't argue with your logic."

"So, come on. Come back with me." She held up her hands in submission. "Forget Molly Maxwell. But, hey. You never know; the girl of your dreams could be over there right now, just waiting for you to introduce yourself."

"The girl of my dreams?"

She nodded, enthusiasm undimmed. "Over there. Waiting. Right now."

Clark very much doubted that. Sandy pressed; "Mrs Right."

"Mrs Right?"

"Right! You don't think you can find your Mrs Right?"

Clark was gazing back out to sea. He remained silent for long enough that Sandy didn't think he was going to speak again. She felt bad and she was just about to apologize for sticking her big nose in where it was none of her business when he said,

"What if you already found your Mrs Right, and then you let her go again?"

With new eyes, she stared at him. "Oh, see, now we're getting somewhere. I always wondered what it was- and now I know." Looking far too pleased with herself, she told him, "You have a look about you."

He took a swig from his bottle. "Do I?"

Sandy was squinting at him. Sizing him up. "Yeah, a quality. And now I know what it is; it's the look of the lovelorn."

"Didn't Burt Bacharach write a song about that once?"

"So, c'mon, what's the story?"

Clark was nodding, "I'm pretty sure Dusty Springfield sang it."

"Clark."

"Maybe one of the other ones."

"Clark."

"Dionne Warwick."

"_Clark_."

He blew out a long breath. "I moved to Bali."

Sandy's eyebrows raised- yikes. "That bad, huh?"

"No," he said softly, almost laughing. "It wasn't like that. It wasn't like that at all."

"So what happened?"

"We uh..." a thumbnail scraped at his bottle label, "had something. But things got in the way. Circumstances."

"Circumstances?"

He swallowed and she watched his eyes narrow. "Cultural differences, I guess you could say."

She considered him, trying to gauge his seriousness. Her entire view of him was recallibrating itself. He made so much more sense. "Do you miss her?"

He didn't answer at first. "Yeah."

"Alot?"

"Yeah."

"Are you still in love with her?"

He flinched, "Sandy."

"Are you?"

He nodded, smiled crookedly. "Yeah."

Breath filled Sandy's cheeks and she released it steadily. How are we going to sort this one out? She squinted at him. "What about her? Did she feel the same way? Were you her Mr Right?"

Slowly he shook his head. "God, I hope not."

Ideas turned over in Sandy's brain. "Couldn't you work things out?"

"We tried to find a way of not being together. We weren't very successful."

"No, I mean now. Couldn't you work things out _now_? I mean, supposing she still feels the way you do?"

Very softly, Clark said, "I haven't seen her in a long time. I wouldn't know how she feels. I wouldn't even know where to begin."

Over by the bonfire, they heard Rebecca calling for her mom. Sandy looked back.

In a weird tone, Clark said, "Duty calls."

Sandy looked back at him but he was already shaking it off. "Go. I'm fine." He raised his bottle. "Thankyou."

She placed her hand on his arm and squeezed it. "I wish you'd said something."

She hitched a thumb back to the party and her tone changed to become lighter, "Now I've got to go lie through my back teeth and tell Molly what an awful guy you are, all your irritating habits, what a lucky escape she's just had."

He smiled. "I'll be over in a little while. I'll get into earshot and burp really loudly or pick my nose or something."

She left him. Clark ran his fingers through the sand, searching around. He found a small stone and held it up to the moon. He wondered what Lois was doing, right now. Whether she was at a party. Whether she was having fun. Whether she was looking after the kids again. He tried to conjure a fantasy of her- of sitting with them at their table in Le Bistro, laughing, joking, drinking milkshakes. For once, it wouldn't come.


	11. Chapter 10

**A/N: Chapter 10**_**. In which the plot thickens**_**. /Umberto Eco**

**Hope you enjoy... ;)**

* * *

Although they had spoken only briefly, she could tell that he was going to be trouble. She had a sense about these things. He had cold-called her and in a squeaky, breathless voice explained that he had information, that it was about the financial irregularities the IRS were investigating at EcoCon, and that he thought the Daily Planet might be interested. Lois agreed that they might. Unfortunately, she had been unable to talk him out of the all-night diner part, or, for that matter, meeting him there at six am.

The last thing he said before hanging up was that he wished to be known only as 'Mr Black'.

Lois had rolled her eyes.

She yawned, tired, although she had lost count of the refills. The only people left in the place were the waitress and a man with a hard hat sat at the counter reading a newspaper. Outside the window, the rest of the world hurried to work, their breath and their drink cartons creating wisps of steam in the wintry air. She rubbed at a stain on the formica table with her fingernail. "That's the problem with whistleblowers. They're always twitchy."

It was five thirty and rainy and dark when she had met Jimmy in the lot outside. Now it was after nine, a pale sun was up, the rush hour customers had come and gone. The stain wouldn't come off. She rested her head on one hand. "Too many movies."

"Do you think something scared him off?" Jimmy whispered. Where Lois felt sleepy, Jimmy's eyes were alight with intrigue. He could count on one hand the number of times he had been asked to leave his camera behind and accompany Lois 'out in the field' like this. They had been sat here doing nothing much for the better part of three hours but he had retained his enthusiasm to a remarkable degree.

Lois had not. But then she had been around this block before- some kind of mid-level employee who knows too much lives it up while the going's good. When the going's not so good, suddenly there's a big decision to be made. Usually, it turned out the motivation to pull the plug was less an attack of conscience, and more an act of self-preservation. And it was a certain type of person who could be that kind of snitch. "In my experience it doesn't take much."

"It must take guts, though."

"To what?" Lois, dubious, raised one eyebrow, "Rat out your lawbreaking multi-million dollar oil company?"

"To do the right thing."

The eyebrow lowered again. "The right thing for all the wrong reasons."

Jimmy hesitated. "Clark used to say that when people listen to their heart, what they hear is good."

Lois nursed her coffee cup. She seemed to think about that. "Clark believes in people."

"It's pretty great about the UN thing, huh?" Knowing he was on tricky ground, Jimmy tried to underplay his excitement about yesterday's news. He stared into his coffee cup. "He's really racking up the gongs."

"Yeah." Lois said softly. She was unspeakably proud of him although she'd rather hula naked through the rush hour traffic than admit that publicly. "He'll have the Nobel Prize in Literature before we know it."

Jimmy grinned. "Rio. I wonder if he'll stop by while he's over here? Be nice to see him- get a chance to catch up."

Lois watched Jimmy turn the cup in his hands. She knew that Clark had called once or twice since he'd been gone, and that they kept up with emails, but he had never come back to see Jimmy. Not as Clark, anyway. Lois sighed. It was probably better that way but it didn't stop her feeling guilty.

"Hey, it was the second Monday of the month yesterday, right?"

Jimmy nodded. "So, do you think he's going to show up?"

Lois looked up, "Clark?"

Jimmy frowned. "Mr Black."

Lois shook her head.

"Maybe that's him?"

Lois lifted her arm to rest it along the top of the booth so she could turn and look behind her. The guy at the bar was folding his newspaper and getting ready to leave. He was a little on the heavy side and he was wearing a fluorescent vest and thick-soled chukka boots. From the stool beside him he picked up his hard hat. She turned back to Jimmy and for a moment just looked at him. "...My gut instinct says 'no'."

When the waitress came over on her pilgrimage with the coffeepot, Lois asked for the check.

"Back to the Planet?"

Lois nodded, "Back to the Planet." She pulled on her coat. "I just want to run a quick errand first."

"What if he never gets back in contact?"

"Clark?"

Jimmy frowned again- "Mr Black."

"Oh." Lois fiddled with her buttons. "He will," she reassured him lightly. "With some things, it's just a matter of time."

--

Richard stepped away from Lois's desk and admired his handiwork. He came forward again to nudge the tiny candy shape a smidge to the left. He stepped back again, smiling to himself; perfect. Maybe Kent had been right all along? With Lois, it really was about the little things. Although it was frustrating that she continued to stonewall his every romantic overture, with this new tactic he felt he was making progress. And at this point, it was crucial to make progress.

Above the noise of the newsroom, he heard Perry calling over to him.

With one more backwards glance to double-check, Richard walked over to his uncle's office.

--

Jimmy waited patiently for Lois to pick out the change from her purse. She had angled her body so that he couldn't quite see over her right shoulder and make out the postmarks on the parcel, but he could see that it was stamped airmail. Lois had been suspiciously coy about what it was they were collecting. Jimmy's eyes travelled upwards to the store clerk. "Cool t shirt."

Bradley looked down. This morning he was wearing one of his Led Zep tees- one of the ones with Rimmer's falling Icarus on the front. He smiled politely, "Thanks," and returned his attention to Ms Blodgett. When he handed over her receipt he laid a rose wrapped in cellophane over the top of the package, mumbling, "And, um. This is for you."

Lois looked up at him but Bradley failed to meet her eyes. He actually blushed, telling his shoes, "It's complimentary, all week."

Jimmy's brow lowered. He had not received a complimentary rose when he had paid for his Diet Pepsi just a second ago.

From inside her coat pocket Lois's cell phone bleeped. She replaced the package together with her rose back onto the counter to check it; an unknown number. "It's him." She poked a finger at her colleague, "What did I say? I'm a people person, Jimmy. I know people." She cleared her throat, triumph in her eyes. "The trick is to handle these things with care. It's all about having interpersonal skills. Watch and learn, Olsen; watch- and learn." She answered the phone: "Hey, buttmunch, what the hell happened back there?"

Jimmy and Bradley stole a glance at each other.

"Cold feet? Look, the deal is, if you want to do this? We do it. It can't be a halfway thing. My paper and I haven't got the time."

She listened for a second. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Don't you dare hang up! Hey! Don't you dare hang up! Hey! Don't-"

Lois lowered the phone and licked her lips. She flipped the cell closed, shrugging, "He hung up."

**--**

Leaning against the wall, looking out into the helter skelter to-ing and fro-ing of the newsroom, Richard stuck his hands into his pockets and whistled. "Early retirement?"

Behind him, at his desk, Perry nodded.

"I'll be honest with you, Perry- the thought had crossed my mind." Richard turned around to face him. Perry looked solemn.

"What about some time off- a sabbatical?" Richard shrugged, "A year on the golf course? Out on the fairways, in the fresh air?"

Perry lifted his thumbs from the desk. "It's not just a health issue. It's an age thing, too." He sighed heavily. "I don't know. It's just a thought. I haven't made a decision yet. I wanted to talk to somebody."

Richard nodded, turned to the window again. "The thing is, I think he's been waiting for you to make the first move."

They were both looking out now, their gaze falling on Big Norm, a staff writer who had been at the Planet almost as long as Perry had. Even as they watched, Norm had to stop what he was doing twice to reach for a handkerchief and hack into it.

"He doesn't want to let you down."

"And I hate to lose him." Perry rubbed his thumbs together. "Sentimentality aside, it punches a big hole in the senior staff."

Richard saw his reflection wince in the glass. He guessed now was as good a time as any. He rubbed at a spot just under his ear. "You know, it's, uh, funny you should mention that..."

But when he looked he was surprised to see that Perry seemed very calm, like he had been anticipating this conversation.

Simply, Perry said, "Chicago."

"You knew?"

Two dark eyes glinted at him, "Who do you think recommended you?"

Richard sagged into a chair, just now seeing the funny side. He ran a hand through his hair, "I haven't slept for weeks trying to figure out how to tell you."

At that Perry scowled, "You care too much." He softened. "It's why you'll make a great editor one day. Why you'll make a great deputy-editor in Chicago."

Richard's cheeks burned. Then his face fell. "Pretty crappy timing, though."

Perry leaned back in his chair. "You've done what you came here to do. I can't ask any more of you than that." He fidgeted with his wedding ring, signalling a shift away from the professional, "It doesn't mean we won't miss you. I guess the two of us have gotten used to having you around."

Richard cracked a smile, "Chicago's not that far away. Gives you an excuse to come back home a little more often."

Perry's brow lifted, "Look who's talking?"

His nephew's expression matched his own, "I'm taking the job, aren't I?"

They smiled together until Richard's face darkened again. "Perry." He cleared his throat, "Part of why I said yes, why I agreed to take the position, is that they've given me my pick of staff. I can bring in who I want, at whatever cost-" Their eyes met. "I've been thinking about asking Lois to come with me."

Again, Perry handled this news with apparent equanimity. His gaze was steady. "She won't."

Richard could only smile that he was probably right. "I thought I'd ask, anyway."

Over at the main doors, Lois and Jimmy had just arrived.

Perry nodded in their direction. With warmth, he said, "You gave it your best shot, kid. More than your best shot. Maybe it's time to give this one up."

They watched Lois. "One last try. I'm taking a different approach." Richard's eyes narrowed in thought. "I just need her to see what's right in front of her."

He flashed Perry a cocky grin before walking out the door, "Quite literally."

Perry watched him go. Into the silence of his office, he mused, "She does have trouble with that."

--

As they walked through the newsroom, Lois was glad they were back where Jimmy could go involve himself in his regular duties. Ever since the store; questions, questions, and more questions. And, frankly, he was starting to get on her nerves.

"And you import them? Every month?"

"They're extremely rare."

"But you're not going to open them?"

"I prefer to wait until I get home."

"Will they be safe, just left in the car like that?"

"They'll be fine."

"It's funny, I never knew you collected stamps."

In the middle of the newsroom, they came to a halt while Lois considered this. Brightly, she told him, "There's alot you don't know about me, Jimmy. And to be brutally honest?" She smiled cheerfully, patting him on the shoulder; "That's the way I like it."

Jimmy shrugged that that was fair enough. Richard came over to meet them.

"Hey, how did the meeting go?"

"It didn't."

Richard looked at Jimmy, "Doctor Death was a no show?"

"Mr Black." Lois corrected him as they all arrived at her desk together. "And big surprise. About a fraction of these calls actually turns out to be an inside-line on anything even remotely newsworthy."

"You don't think this guy's genuine?"

Lois shrugged at the two of them, "I really have no idea, but if he is genuine, he'll have genuine information, and he'll call back. If he is genuine- he's just being twitchy."

Jimmy wandered away to deal with the workload that had accrued in his absence. Lois shook off her coat and settled in her chair. Richard remained, standing there, at her desk. Lingering.

"Hi."

"Hi!"

She squinted at him, then took out her glasses, put them on, picked up a pen and made to get on with her day. "The answer's no."

He smiled, "You don't even know what the question is?"

Lois blew out her cheeks and widened her eyes like this was a tough one and they hadn't been through this a million times before. She threw up her hands, "Is there any chance the question is something like, 'Will you go out with me on a date?'"

Richard thought hard. "No."

She tutted one cheek in disappointment, "I'm slipping."

"The question is _exactly '_Will you go out with me on a date?'"

She simply shook her head. The man was like a weeble wobble. He was irrepressible.

He perched himself on the edge of her desk, moving his hands through the air for emphasis as he talked, "I was thinking of taking you to a little place I know, there'll be candlelight, wine, music? And then a movie?" He leaned in, "That way, if dinner turns out to be a disaster and we have nothing to say to each other, we can skip dessert and it won't be awkward."

"Wow," Lois deadpanned. "That's quite the romantic evening out you're painting there, Don Juan."

He treated her to his best movie star smile and winked.

She looked at him with wonder. "Don't you ever get tired of this?"

"Tired of what?"

She gestured the space around them. "This? The knock backs, the turn downs, the 'no, thanks'. This ritual of public humiliation and rejection. In front of friends, and colleagues, and respected peers..." Her brow lowered in sympathy, "...Day after day. After day."

"I'm persistent. It's my best quality."

"Persistent?" Lois sucked in a breath, "That's one word for it."

"Unwavering? Patient? Resolute?"

She busily flicked through a legal pad. "I was going to say 'tedious', but, same diff, right?"

"So, what do you say?"

Lois looked up. "No." She touched her fingers to her thumbs, "I'm not sure how many different ways I can say this and have you not understand. But the answer's 'no'."

Unfazed, Richard said, "What about the sweethearts?"

"Ah yes, this week's weapon of choice." With her pen she poked at the little pink heart shape that had been carefully left on her desk. "Subtle."

He tried to tease a smile out of her, "Come on, as methods of courtship go, you think it's kind of cute."

"Yes, I do think it's kind of cute," she told him earnestly, holding the heart up in the air; "for five year old school children."

Richard scratched the side of his nose and folded his arms.

"-And, frankly, it makes me wonder about the delights to look forward to in a more serious relationship?" She shrugged, "The password to your treehouse, half your peanut-butter sandwich during recess? Free rides on your push bike?"

Richard leaned in. "You want a free ride on my push bike, Lois?"

She shook her head sadly at him, but he simply ignored her. He jutted his chin at the sweetheart. "What does today's say?"

She read it. "Say yes."

His eyebrows waggled.

"No."

He quirked his head in exaggerated frustration with her before sliding back to his feet. "I felt so sure today was going to be the day. I can tell you're warming up to me."

A smile crept onto her face. "Go away and do some work. Before your uncle grounds you for not keeping up with your chores or something."

He disappeared to his office. She was still smiling five minutes later when her desk phone rang. "Aha!" She pointed over at Jimmy, "What did I say?" To herself, she muttered, "Twitchy. I knew it." With Jimmy watching she picked up the handset, "I take it we're through with the fun and games, Serpico?"

On the other end of the line there was a pause._ "What in the world are you talking about?"_

"Lucy." Lois made a false alarm gesture at Jimmy. "Why are you calling me at work?"

"_Ants._"

"I beg your pardon?"

"_Ants," _Lucy repeated more forcefully_. "We've got ants. In the garage- an infestation_."

"Oh. What kind of ants?"

"_Ones that won't stay dead- and they're really starting to _piss_ me off._"

"What do they look like?"

Lucy sounded exasperated, "_I don't know? Like ants!" _She sighed_. "David thinks they might be Argentinian house ants or something- I don't know. But we've tried smoking, scalding, baiting... Nothing works. Remember a few years ago? That summer when they got into your kitchen? Can you remember what you used?_"

Lois remembered alright: Superman. "Um, it was a special ...cryogenic ...treatment ...thing... I'm not sure it's on the market anymore. Listen, Luce, you have to be careful with some types of insect- sometimes you can make the problem worse."

"_I realize that, Lois. That's why my goal is total annihilation and not control._"

Lois's eyebrows raised, "O-kaay. You know what? I think the best thing is to call the experts. Give me a second, I've got some numbers here." She began to flick through her rolodex. Clark's fake fumigations were finally going to come in handy, after all this time. "Let me see..."

While she waited, Lucy drummed her fingers. Lois could hear it as a soft background noise. Then Lucy said, "_So, I was at my poetry class last night..._"

Down the line, Lois sang, "Let it go, Lucy. Let it go."

"_...and you came up again. And I have to tell you, time's running out. According to his aunt, he's thinking of getting out of Dodge."_

"There you go, then. Me, and this random man that I've never met; it clearly wasn't meant to be. Woe. And, alas."

She heard her sister tut in disgust. "_I can't believe you- it's one date. And you're throwing away the chance. What if you went out with him and, you know, something sparked? What if this is your big moment- the start of something special? The first day of the rest of your life? And you'll never even know?"_

Lois nodded philosophically, "I guess I'll just have to try and find a way to live with myself."

"_What about fate?_"

"Fate?" Lois snapped unintentionally. "I don't believe in it anymore." She plucked out a business card, "Now do you want this number or not?"

--

That evening Clark came home for breakfast. As the sun went down over the cornfields, he sat with his mother at the kitchen table munching on ham and toast and drinking coffee while she ate vegetables and a piece of grilled chicken.

When she was done she pushed away her plate and got out her reading glasses. Right now, she was concentrating on the letter Clark had brought to show her. While she wasn't looking, Clark slipped pieces of bacon rind to Shelby. The letter was headed with the United Nations logo. "Goodness, the UN Foundation Prize. Clark, that's amazing."

She put the letter down and frowned, "And what is it, exactly?"

He got up to wash his hands, chuckling. "Basically, it's recognition of all these human rights special reports Frank lets me run." He dried his hands on a dishtowel. "And you get to go to Rio to collect ten thousand dollars."

"Rio?"

"It's hosting the ceremony this year."

"Goodness." Martha shook her head lightly at him. A faraway expression settled on her face. "Your father, he'd be so proud of you, do you know that?"

Clark smiled at her. He didn't sit back down again. Instead he leaned back against the draining board. "Where's Ben tonight, anyway?"

Martha carefully folded the letter back into its envelope. "Oh, I've not seen him all week. His air seeder keeps breaking down."

"Do you want me to go over there?"

Martha scrunched her nose, waving away his look of concern. "You know Ben. He likes a problem to solve."

Clark nodded.

Daintily, she propped the envelope against the pepper and salt shakers. "What?"

Clark eyed her, enjoying her discomfort, the switching of their usual roles. "He's not popped the big question yet, then?"

Martha was a lady, and so she gave nothing away. "If by 'the big question' you're referring as to whether or not he's inquired about repainting the barn this year, then the answer's 'No, not yet'."

He dipped his head, crossing his arms. "That's actually _not_ the question to which I was referring."

Martha took off her glasses and folded them. "I get the feeling he's working his way up to it."

"What makes you say that?"

"Ben doesn't own an air seeder."

Clark chuckled. "What are you going to say?"

"I don't know."

He tilted his head at her, not fully expecting that answer.

She shrugged. "It's been a long time since..." She looked at Clark, "But it's hard to imagine being married to someone else."

Clark put his hands in his pockets. "So don't get married. Co-habitation. All the kids are doing it."

"That's just it. We're not kids anymore." She waved a hand in the air, unconcerned. "Don't worry about us. We'll work something out."

Clark pushed himself forward, "Speaking of work. I better go."

He kissed Martha on the top of her head, "Thanks for breakfast."

She handed him back his letter, "Hey, I bet everyone was pretty buzzed when that came through the mail?"

"Buzzed?" Clark slipped the envelope into his inside pocket. "Frank just about managed to stop short of lifting me onto his shoulders and bouncing me through the streets."

Martha watched him straighten his tie. "Aw, honey. They're all just so proud of you. Like me."

He fussed at the dog, saying goodbye. "I think we got complaints from the next town over about keeping the noise down."

"Well, they've had a day to deal with it," Martha told him confidently. "I'm sure the excitement's worn off by now."

--

Howard did his best to look cool doing it- but it was still pretty much the white man dance, as he Simon Le Bon-ed, "Her name is Rio, and she dances on the saaand! Just like that river twisting through a dusty laand, and something, something, something shows you all she caaan, oh Rio, Rio, Rio; you're going to Rio laand!"

So it turned out that Martha was very much wrong. If anything, the reverse was true and now that they had had the chance to think about the details, his co-workers' delight in his success had only increased. Howard had taken to singing songs with the word 'Rio' in them and, sometimes, just subbing the word in regardless, every time he came by to use the coffee machine. Clark had taken to trying to dampen down the collective enthusiasm.

As he worked at his computer, he patiently told Howard, "You do know that song's about a woman whose name is 'Rio'- it's nothing to do with Rio, the place."

Howard simply did what he always did in these situations and tuned out Clark's natural predilection to party-poop. With his coffee he plopped himself down on the corner of his desk, eyes shining, "Oh, mate. I wish I was coming with you! Have you ever been to Brazil? _Such_ an amazing country."

Tap tap tap. Clark tapped away at his keyboard. His back said, "I can have a word with Frank and you can go collect the award for me if you like?"

"Are you nuts? It's your big night. You deserve it!"

Eko called over, "Come on! Aren't you excited. Even just a little bit?"

Clark stopped what he was doing to turn and address the room. "I'd really prefer to just get on with my work."

Not taking the hint, across the aisle, Sandy- sizing him up with an expert eye, babbled at him,"What are you going to wear? Do you have anything suitable? You'll need a nice suit. Do you have a nice suit? We can go shopping for a suit!"

"I have a nice suit." Clark told her. "I do have some experience in this area."

"So wait," Henry joined in, "you won't be wearing a cowboy outfit?"

Clark had to turn around again just to make sure that Henry was not joking. Apparently, he was not. Clark was baffled, "Why would I be wearing a cowboy outfit?"

Perfectly seriously, Henry said, "Because, you know, it's a ...formal occasion?"

"It's not like a national costume, Henry. It's not like a kilt."

Henry looked crestfallen. "But you grew up on ranch, right?"

Clark didn't want to lie. "It's really more of a farm."

"And you, you never had any problems with train robberies?"

Clark blinked. "No."

"Bandits?"

Softly, Clark shook his head.

Henry's eyes crinkled at the edges, he tried, "Cattle rustling?"

Not wanting to shatter all Henry's illusions in one go, Clark pressed his lips together, thinking. "...A chicken escaped once?"

Henry smiled as Frank ducked his head into the newsroom, "Clark, I just got off the phone with the Mayor's office. He's really excited about this. He wants to send some people to talk to you, maybe get the national press involved. We've set up a big meeting next Wednesday night at the Oceania."

Clark just about managed to stifle a schoolgirl huff. "Is all this really necessary? I'm just doing my job."

"This is big news, Clark. For all of us." Frank grinned, "Kick back! Enjoy the attention."

Frowning, Clark returned to his work.

**--**

That Friday it was St Valentine's Day. Perry had a card with a big, furry heart standing up on his desk. He was sat at his desk now, watching Lois watching Norm. "So what do you think?"

Lois sounded wistful, "I'm really going to miss the big guy."

"I mean about the vacancy."

She turned away from Perry's window and leaned against the sill. "I know."

"It's you this affects the most."

She could only shrug unhelpfully. "There's no one on staff that matches his experience. Not for the city beat, anyway."

For what it was worth, Perry agreed with this assessment. "Do you think I should look outside?"

Lois didn't answer immediately. For a moment she chewed on her bottom lip. Then she said, "I know how this is going to sound- it's going to sound crazy, I know." She paused, "But have you thought about Richard?"

Perry was confused. To check, he said, "Richard? Richard- for Norm's job?"

Lois winced at her own logic, but she carried on, "I guess it would be kind of a sideways thing for him, sure. But have you talked to him recently?"

Perry's mouth opened and then closed again...

Lois was not paying attention to him, "I mean, doesn't he seem kind of restless to you?"

"Well-"

She put up her hands, "Alright, so it's not exactly jetting off to liaise with the European offices every other week- but the bullpen, a change of pace, a change of scene?" She lifted a shoulder. "Maybe a new challenge is exactly what he needs?"

Perry licked his lips. "Lois ...Richard..." He stopped and looked down. Sighing, he settled for, "Well, I just don't think he wants Norm Palmer's old job, that's all."

"Aren't you at least going to run it by him?"

Perry smiled a little. "It's not that I don't think it's a good idea. It's a very interesting idea-"

"I could talk to him?" Lois offered, folding her arms. "We've worked together before. We make a pretty good team?"

Softly, Perry agreed, "Yes, you do."

His tone had Lois narrowing her eyes at him. It was gone again when he looked up and said, "I think you should talk to Richard."

She frowned at him, "I will."

Perry wiggled his fingers through the air as if to say it's not your problem and it's all unimportant ephemera anyway. "I just wanted to see what you thought. Thanks for your time."

"It's no problem." She put her hand on the door to pull it open but didn't. She half-turned back to him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he said lightly. She went to go again. "Lois?"

"Yeah?"

"You'd tell me? You'd say something? If you needed a change of pace, a change of scene?"

She regarded him, puzzled at what he was getting at. "I don't."

"But if you did?"

Her head tilted, "What's going on?"

"Because I wouldn't stand in your way. Ever since you've been here, you've given me everything." Under a crinkled brow, ever so slightly, he was shaking his head, "If you wanted to try something new, I wouldn't stand in your way."

Very slowly, Lois began to nod, "Alright, I see what this is. It's a cull! A coup d'état! You're trying to get rid of the old hands, one by one." She poked a finger at him, "But I got news for you, Robespierre; Norm's got forty years on me- I'll be sticking around making your life miserable for a little while, yet."

She watched Perry's face lighten. Grinning, she tipped her chin at the Valentine's card. "Who's the card from?"

His smile turned tender and he chuckled. "It's anonymous, but it's Alice." He nodded at the window, at her desk. "What about you?"

Lois looked at him. "Who do you think?"

From here Perry could make out a relatively harmless-looking card and a medium-sized clutch of flowers. "Just the one bouquet this year?"

Lois was as baffled as anyone. "He seems to have downsized his operation just lately. So far, not even a suggestion of a Cupid-o-gram." She leaned in before leaving. "My fingers and toes remain crossed."

**--**

In Bali, it was late but when Howard was in the middle of something, he tended to lose track of time. He stepped out of the darkroom and blinked in the light. "Where is everybody?"

Clark was busy at his computer. "It's after seven, How. I think everybody else has these things I've heard them refer to as 'lives.'"

Howard clucked good-naturedly at his friend as he walked to the front of the room and started a new pot of coffee. "I don't know what you're complaining about. Another week and you'll be packing, ready to jetset all the way off to-"

Clark held up his index finger in warning. "One word about Rio. One bar of Duran Duran; I'm out of here."

Howard pulled an imaginary zipper across his mouth in submission.

"And I'm not complaining," Clark complained.

Replacing the carafe of coffee back onto the hotplate Howard inhaled a sigh. He went to pull out Sandy's chair so he could sit directly opposite Clark. "If you don't mind my saying so, you don't seem very excited."

Concentrating on the words in front of him, Clark said, "I'm spell-checking. How excited can you get?"

"I mean about next week."

"Oh." Clark thought about this. "I'm excited on the inside."

Howard watched him interestedly- as a therapist might regard his patient. "You know, Rio; it's not that far from Metropolis."

Clark scoffed. "Just an entire continent."

"If you want it to be."

The softness, the measured lingering in his tone, had Clark looking up.

Howard said, "You're still in love with her." From the nearest corner of Clark's desk he slid off a newspaper- Clark's copy of today's Daily Planet. Howard held it up and pointed at the bolded by-line. "Lois Lane."

Clark said nothing but he didn't need to. The black look on his face spoke for him.

Howard admitted, "Sandy, and Frank and I, we've been talking. About a lot of things; you, your old job, your hot ex co-worker." He was tapping at the by-line again, "I guess we put two and two together."

Annoyed, and a little upset, Clark said, "I'm so glad I'm the subject of such intriguing office gossip."

"Cut the crap, Clark," Howard shot back. "We worry about you."

Clark's lips thinned to a line. When would people just leave him alone? "I'm fine."

"No, you only think you are."

Losing his cool, Clark snapped, "What do you want me to say, Howard?"

But if Clark was upset, Howard was too. "I don't want you to say anything? Look at you! I want you to be honest with yourself!"

Clark briefly touched his fingers to the bridge of his glasses, then let go again. Softly he said, "I told you, it was a long time ago."

Howard shook his head to correct him. "You told me that it was over ...But it's not. Is it?"

The muscles in Clark's jaw worked. He pressed the fingertips of his right hand to his heart. "Here, it's not." He looked across. "But in the real world. Where it counts. I let her go."

"So get her back."

Clark laughed but it was quiet and hollow and humorless. "It's not as simple as that."

"Because you're making it complicated."

His eyes closed, "Howard, you have to understand-"

"No, _you're_ the one that has to understand." There was heat in Howard's voice. His nostrils were flaring. "You don't just let the one you're meant to be with slip through your fingers." He sounded disgusted. "If you do, you're a fool."

Clark swallowed. Steadily, he said, "Then that's what I am."

"If I had another chance to see Sam again? Just one chance? Nothing would stop me. To be with the person that you love?" Howard's eyes were burning. "I'd run through a brick wall!"

Before he could check himself, Clark had rasped, "I'd stop the Earth."

There was a moment, and it was charged with energy. Eventually Howard lifted an eyebrow, a look of satisfaction twinkling behind his eyes. "Like I said, it's not over."

Clark slumped back in his seat. Howard watched him draw breath and sigh. He looked up at the ceiling. "It's our anniversary coming up. In a few weeks."

Gently, Howard nudged, "First date?"

Clark smiled, taken by a memory. He gave a shy, sideways glance and his eyebrow cocked, "The other anniversary."

Howard laughed. He relished the moments when Clark allowed his less repressed side out into the light. He swayed his head, "You know. Sandy thinks you should leave. She thinks you should go back to Metropolis." They looked at each other. "Give it another go."

"I can just see Frank thanking her for that suggestion."

Howard smiled thoughtfully, bobbing his head, "I don't think he's its biggest fan, no. And I'm not saying he doesn't plan to make you the Gazette's first ever foreign correspondent."

Clark chuckled. His face cleared and then he caught Howard's look. He frowned. "You're serious."

Howard shrugged, "We've already decided to club together for your ticket. Becca's pledged the entire contents of her piggybank."

"Are you serious?"

"About Becca? Don't worry about it; she's not much of a saver- it's about enough for two bags of peanuts on the plane." Howard scrunched one eye closed, "Maybe one really big one if you're lucky."

Clark was stunned. "I- I don't know what to say."

Howard touched his lips together. "Say you'll think about it."

Clark laughed, and this time it was rueful. Think about it? Lois; Metropolis; going back home. They were the only things that were ever on his mind. And they revolved constantly, in the background, like a super 8 projection stuck on the reel.

**--**

That evening, Lois was waiting for the whistleblower to return a call. They had conducted a conversation over her work line at lunch that had involved actual facts, so at least the story was going somewhere. Lois remained unconvinced, though.

Although technically still working, unlike Clark, she had eschewed spending Valentine's evening at the office in favor of spending it at home. On the couch. With ice cream. A rerun of Roman Holiday was playing. Perfectly content, she sat before it, crosslegged, with the ice cream in her lap and both her cordless and her cell phone ready on the arm rest.

When the cordless rang during an ad break, Lois knocked off the volume on the tv before answering cockily, "Mr Black, in the boss's office, with a flashlight and a Xerox machine?"

"_Oh good. I thought you'd be in."_

Balancing the tub between her knees, Lois carefully excavated a curl of ice cream with her spoon. "Hey Luce."

"_Do you always answer the phone like that?"_

"I'm expecting a call." She sucked at the ice cream on the spoon like an ice pop. "What's up?"

"_Are you eating? I can call back?"_

"No, it's fine, it's ice cream, sorry." Catching a chin dribble, Lois put the carton down and licked her finger. "What can I do for you?"

"_Zach's lost a power ranger and he wants to eliminate you from inquiries." _

Lois glanced left and right. "Am I under suspicion?"

"_We're just making inquiries at this stage."_

Her forehead dimpled. "Why would I have his power ranger?"

"_He thought you might've taken it home with you the last time you were here. He thought it could have slipped into your handbag. ...By accident." _

Lois squinted. She placed her hand across her heart, and intoned, "Lucy, as God is my witness, and by the power of Greyskull, I can tell you I did not steal Zach's power ranger. Accidentally or otherwise." Thinking on it, she added, "I'm not sure I even spoke to Zach the last time I was there- he was watching cartoons with that kid from next door."

Lucy sounded businesslike and brisk. _"Yes. Okay, thanks Lo. Excuse me." _

Away from the phone, Lois heard Lucy yell,_ "ZACH! SHE DOESN'T HAVE IT."_ There was a pause. _"NO, SHE'S SURE."_ Then Lucy was on the line again, _"Are you sure?"_

Lois pressed her lips together in patience and assured her sister, "Yes."

There was another gap in conversation. _"YES!"_

Lois heard Lucy tut sadly as she came back on the line, _"It looks like we were right all along. Dale Stockwell's got sticky fingers."_

"Dale Stockwell? Isn't _he_ the kid from next door?"

"_And unfortunately, it looks like he might also be a liar and a thief."_

Lois blew out a breath. "Are you sure?"

"_Yeah, we're pretty sure."_

"'Cause kids toys must get messed up all the time- maybe he's got it, he just doesn't think he's got it?"

"_He was pretty adamant that he doesn't have it. And so was his mother."_

"Well, no one likes to be accused of stealing," Lois said, thoughtfully.

"_He had no problem suggesting your name."_

"Oh." So much for playing devil's advocate. "In that case, if you want to take this thing national- I can help make that happen."

Lois listened to her sister chuckling. _"Thanks, Lo. We just wanted to make sure, anyway." _She sighed, _"I better get back to David."_

"Aw," Lois reached for the ice cream again, "are you two doing something special tonight?"

"_We're fumigating."_

"Romantic!"

"_Do you really want to start down this road? Because you are in no position to talk." _

Through a mouthful, Lois chirped, "I don't know what you can possibly mean?"

"_It's Valentine's and you're alone, eating ice cream."_ Lucy paused._ "I bet you're in your sweatpants."_

Lois one-handedly searched around cushions for where ever she'd put the remote. "It's fun to live up to a cliché."

"_It doesn't have to be this way- this guy's not left town yet, you know."_

"Nice talking to you, Lucy! Thanks for calling." Lois hung up. Before cutting her off, she heard Lucy sigh again.

**--**

Clark had often walked past the steps of the Oceania, but until tonight he'd never actually been inside. The lobby was alot like he would've imagined- cool and spacious, wide pillars and palm plants, a polished parquet floor. A five star hotel for the businessman set. There were no businessmen around at the moment. Just the four of them, sat in the bar around a table in the corner. Above the counter, on a widescreen tv, a soccer match was being played.

Clark was sat next to Frank. Opposite them, two serious-looking men from the Mayor's office were haggling with Frank over whether a photo-op with the Mayor could be arranged at such short notice. Clark had spent most of the evening desperately trying to talk them all down.

Above the bartender's head, the soccer game suddenly flickered off catching Clark's attention.

A breaking news cue-card flashed on the screen and the bartender reached to turn the volume up, just catching the end of the newsreader's sentence,

"_...point nine magnitude, a hundred and twenty miles north of the capital, La Paz. Initial reports suggest that buildings shook with the force of the tremors, and power supplies are down."_

Clark straightened in his chair. The newsreader touched his finger to his ear.

"_We have these images, live, from the border regions, where mudslide warnings have been issued..." _

Fuzzily, at the end of a tunnel, Clark heard Frank say, "Clark? Clark? What do you think? Is the airport good for you?"

Clark was already on his feet. "I uh, I've got to go."

Everyone looked up, surprised. The two men from the Mayor's office caught each other's eye.

Frank was confused. He smiled with his teeth. "Go where?"

In his peripheral vision, Clark was still trying to watch the television. He could hear the cries for help. "Um. I have a library book I need to return." Unconsciously, his hands were already feeling for his collar.

At once Frank relaxed, relieved. "Very funny."

"No, I mean it."

Their eyes locked once more and for a moment they just looked at each other, Clark pleading, Frank glaring. Through his teeth, Frank said, "You can't- we have to do this. We'll be five minutes. Then you can go do whatever you want."

Frank turned back to the meeting, ready to continue the conversation.

But Clark didn't sit down. Frank was totally bemused. He knew Clark didn't relish this kind of side-show but what the heck had gotten into him? "Clark," Frank's eyes flashed a warning, "five more minutes. _Please_."

It was not framed as a request. Clark lowered back onto his chair, barely managing to keep from ripping off each arm rest.

Frank said, "_Thankyou_."

Over on the tv screen, the camera was shaking. Another tremor. Rigid with the terrible effort of keeping still, Clark could only sit there and watch.

--

In his room, in the residents' wing of the North Sumatra Center for Medical Care, a man with blond hair lay back on his bed, idly flicking through tv channels. A special news report about an earthquake in Bolivia made him stop. He sat up so he could concentrate on the pictures. He frowned, cocking his head. There was something so familiar about the pictures.

For the first time since he had been here, he felt something buried deep in his memory begin to unlock.

--

All eyes were fixed on the television newsfeed. At times like this, the newsroom simply stopped. People on phones, at the copier, people with their breakfast cup of coffee halfway to their lips, motionless, staring at the screens.

Lois, who had been in the middle of hole-punching a set of notes destined for her file, was now standing, hole-punch in hand, glasses dangling from her neck, head raised to the feed along with everyone else.

The report was being broadcast live. The picture on the screen shifted in and out of clarity, the camera operator struggling to correct and re-correct his focus. But it was still possible to make out the important details. People in the foreground, running, screaming. Behind them, in the hazy distance, a townscape set on a mountainside. Square terraces of white limestone dotting the hills seemed to be disintegrating from the front.

Over the top of the pictures the anchor said, _"People appear to be fleeing their homes. Although the country has been placed on high alert, according to defense officials, so far there has been no sign of Superman..."_

In horror, Lois realized that the tiny objects moving away from the town in the background were not particles of debris, they were _human beings_. And they were running for their lives. Behind them, above the town, a rolling, shifting slice of the mountainside itself appeared to be gathering pace, and it was moving fast. There was no way the people were going to reach safety in time. They were going to be overwhelmed, and they were going to die.

And still there was no sign of Superman.

Inwardly, Lois chided him; _any time now, Clark. Aaany time now would be good_. She could feel her pulse racing watching the dark tide of rippling earth getting closer and closer. From the newsroom there were gasps as people realized what was happening. Lois refused to believe Clark wouldn't get there in time, but now the mudslide was so close you could _hear_ it.

_...Where the hell is he?_

Suddenly, two red beams appeared from the sky, dissecting the television picture along a diagonal. The beams scanned sideways along the mountainside, carving a deep trench above the town and below the leading edge of the flow. The onrush of earth seemed to vanish into thin air as it disappeared into the artificial gully.

As Superman swooped into shot to shore up the makeshift barrier, a critical point was reached and the newsroom broke into cheering and loud applause. People were looking at each other, rocking back on their heels, rubbing at their necks, regaining their color. Speaking for everyone, Lois heard someone say, "I _hate_ it when he does that."

Drained, she dropped back into her chair. She knew, better than anyone, that when Superman cut it that close, it was because there was a damn good reason. She caught Perry looking at her, the same unsettling mixture of relief and worry on his face.

--

Clark was busy clearing roads and repairing water and power lines all Wednesday night. On Thursday morning he called in sick so he could stay on in Bolivia and continue with the rebuilding effort. By nightfall he was finished. But he did not fly straight back to Bali. He flew north.

No one had died. By some small miracle, no one had died. An elderly gentleman had turned his ankle but somehow, everyone had survived.

But it had been _so close_.

Clark turned the crystals over and over in his hands. He replaced the first one into the center of the memory console for the fortieth? Fiftieth? One hundredth time that night? He had lost count.

Jor-El's image was speaking, but Clark was not really paying attention anymore. He knew the words, the cadences, the entirety of the conversations, off by heart anyway.

"_You are revealed to the world. Very well. So be it. But you still must keep your secret identity."_

A two and a half second pause.

"_The reasons are two: First, you cannot serve humanity twenty-eight hours a day ...Or twenty-four as it is in Earth time. Your help would be called for endlessly. Even for those tasks that human beings can solve themselves. It is their habit to abuse their resources in such a way." _

Another pause.

"_Secondly: your enemies will discover their only way to hurt you- by hurting the people you-"_

Clark pulled the crystal from its setting, ending the recording. Into the same slot he placed the second crystal, the one that activated his mother. Lara appeared. She looked solemn, as she always did.

"_Your father and I have tried to anticipate your every question, Kal-El. This is the one we hoped you would not ask."_

Again, there was a polite, meaningless silence for the response long since given.

"_And she? The one you have chosen; she feels as much for you?"_

Sightlessly, robotically, Clark stopped the recording again. He swapped the crystals, pushing the first back in, to start it from the beginning.

--

The newsroom was quiet, empty, and illuminated only by her desk lamp. Lois pressed CTRL+P and listened to the printer gurgle and buzz into life, but she did not immediately go to collect her copy. She remained where she was and softly tapped at her desktop with the fingertips of her right hand.

Clark had given no interviews, either locally, or to international news organizations. Not even a perfunctory wave to camera or a quick soundbite, and that was unusual after a major incident like this. It had been hours since he'd been seen leaving Bolivia and he hadn't turned up anywhere else. It was troubling.

Eventually, she reached to the floor to pick up her handbag and placed it on the desk. Out of her handbag she removed her purse and clipped it gently open. From one of the credit card pouches she carefully slipped out what she was looking for and folded it open along its crease.

The small scrap of newsprint was still as crisp as the day he had given it to her. The ink of the email address and password- clear and distinct. She ran her thumb over it as if she was reading braille, she could feel the indentation of the words he had written.

She almost got as far as opening her email application before she stopped and folded the newsprint away again. She closed her eyes and put her fingertips to her lips. She stayed like that for a while, motionless except for the steady rubbing of the knuckle on her thumb back and forth, back and forth underneath the curve of her bottom lip.

**--**

A touch of the flu, a twenty-four hour thing. But he was over it now- that was what he had told Frank when he turned up at the office on Friday morning.

It was unclear whether Frank believed him. The truth was Frank was not sure either, but there was no question that Clark had not seemed himself.

Sensing this, everyone had left him alone to do what he was most comfortable doing- to just get on with work. Even Rebecca, bursting through the door with her habitual after-school joie de vivre, seemed to instinctively recognize that today was not the day to re-create for Clark, in live-action, a slo-motion replay of the injury time diving header she had scored as the bell rang for afternoon class. Instead she went to sit quietly next to her mother, and worked through homework assignments.

At four-thirty pm precisely, Frank stood in the doorway of his office and soaked in the unusually sombre atmosphere of the room.

"Okay everyone, whatever you're doing, finish it up. We're closing early today."

There were noises of happy satisfaction in response. Only Clark didn't say anything. Didn't even move.

When the others were already on their feet, tucking in chairs and collecting up bags and jackets, softly, almost to himself, Clark said, "I don't think I can do this anymore."

Frank, pointing at him, smiled, "My thoughts exactly. Come on, let's go get some dinner- I'm buying."

This provoked even more excitement amongst his staff. Above it, Clark repeated, "No. I don't think I can do this anymore."

Conversation died in the room. Clark either didn't realize or didn't care that he had spoken so loudly. When he looked up, he looked at Howard.

Howard stared back and went to open his mouth. But it was Sandy that found her voice first. "Go. Go to her. You have to."

She sat down so that their eyes were level. "Go back to Metropolis and tell her how you feel."

Even before the words were out of her mouth, Clark was slowly shaking his head. "I_ can't_."

Howard gazed at him uncomprehendingly. "What's stopping you?"

Clark's throat ached. A groundswell of emotion that started in his heart, rose and threatened to spill over. The feeling was so raw, and so potent, that for a moment he thought he might break; his double identity, his big secret, the life he had given up. The sorrow that weighed on his soul and that had become as much a part of him as his desire to do only good- _everything_- it would all come pouring unstoppably out. But he squashed it all back down and the moment passed, as he knew it would, and instead he was lamely left to gasp, "Nothing. Everything."

Howard's face contorted in a silent grimace of disgust at such paucity, the wishy-washiness of Clark's answer. But he misunderstood. Clark tried to explain, to make them all understand,

"I told her that I'd never see her again. I told her to move on, to forget about me, to live her life without me because I couldn't promise her a future. I told her all those things, and I meant them, and I broke her heart."

His voice was scratchy. The atmosphere in the room was electric. Clark was staring past Howard, into space, gently shaking his head, "I stood in front of her and I watched her cry and I watched her heart _break."_ His voice faltered as the middle of his eyebrows raised, "And then I left."

For a few seconds Howard was quiet. Then, matter-of-factly, he said, "You were an idiot. I don't think anyone's debating that. The question is what are you going to do about it now?"

Clark laughed, closing his eyes. "Howard." He opened them again. "What if it's too late?"

"Then it's too late!" Howard blustered. "You missed your chance! You screwed up! It's over!" He snapped his fingers, "Gone!" His eyes were on fire, "But what if it's not?" He sunk to sit on the edge of his chair, "You can't let her slip through your fingers."

When Clark showed no obvious reaction, Howard smacked his fist against his desk. "God_damnit_, Clark! Don't you know how precious love is?"

Into the tense silence that followed, Eko coughed. He and Henry had been exchanging worried glances- not strictly sure what was going on. But ever since Sandy had mentioned Metropolis, they had been keen to join in.

Everyone looked at Eko who had his hand held up as if in class. Self-consciously he lowered it. "Sorry. Um, I don't know if this means anything, but according to the records kept by our Subscription team, there's a woman in Metropolis who imports the Gazette on a monthly basis. Our only international customer."

Clark stared back at him. "What?"

Henry nodded. "She's kept up an account with us nearly three years now." Frowning, thinking out loud, he said, "Ever since you arrived here, actually."

Heart thumping, Clark said, "Where's our Subscription team?"

Eko raised his hand again. Then he wiggled it between himself and Henry. "Uh, it's... It's us."

"Is. Is there a name?"

"Yeah, I- I'm not sure how you say it..." Eko scooted back round to his desk and opened up the relevant files on his computer screen. He scrolled through the records, "Here it is." He double-checked; "A Ms S. Blodgett."

"What did you just say?"

Unsure of his pronunciation, Eko tried to sound clearer. "A Ms S. Blodgett?" He followed the line of her name with his finger. "Yes, look. The last order shipped just a couple of weeks ago."

Everyone turned their attention back to Clark, breathlessly waiting for a clue from him as to who this Ms S Blodgett was and what this all meant. He looked like a man on the verge of announcing something hugely profound, like he was finally putting the pieces together and now life made sense. They waited. Finally, weakly, he whispered, "She's been reading me."

"Well what else are you waiting for?" Howard blurted, "Divine intervention? A burning bush? _A sign_!?"

Frank's desk phone shrilled into life and it made everyone jump. Frank ignored the ringing until he could stand it no longer and without saying anything he stepped back inside his office and just yanked the plug out.

The renewed silence and the movement seemed to stir Clark back into action. Slowly, he got to his feet. "I'm sorry. I should have done this a long time ago."

Frank was back in his doorway. Clark strode past on his way to the doors. "What's happening now? Where are you going?"

Clark faced them, his friends. He smiled- a brilliant, handsome, smile, as if just thinking the words tore down walls. Behind his glasses, his eyes shone with determination: "I'm going to get her back."

And then he left. Behind him, there was a pause and then the room erupted in noisy celebration. Sandy hollered "Way to go, Clark," and Howard twirled Rebecca through the air.

When the hooting and cheering had subsided, Frank placed his arm around his wife's shoulders. "I've never seen him like that. Have you ever seen him like that?"

"No," Sandy agreed, thinking about the way Clark had suddenly seemed to take control. "...It was kind of hot."

Frank gave her a sideways glance. Howard was nodding.

Henry extended his index finger, wanting to make sure he was up to speed. "So. He's. He's going to Metropolis, right?"

Sandy frowned. "I think so."

"Is he coming back?"

Frank regarded Henry, "He better be-" He checked his watch, "he's got a photo call and a flight to Rio to catch in about twenty hours."

Sandy tutted at her husband.

"What? I paid for business class."

Eko was scratching the back of his head. "What kind of a name's Blodgett?"

Frank thought about this. He turned to Sandy, "I thought you said her name was Lois?"

Sandy actually had no explanation. Howard simply didn't care. He was hugging Rebecca, a contented, dreamy smile on his face. He wiped away a tear.

The newsroom doors crashed open again but it was just Bertina- with a foul-looking expression on her face. Her accent was always thicker when she was annoyed, "Hey, who cut me off?"

Frank held up his hands, "Sorry Bertie- that was me." He waved his hands vaguely, "We were kind of in the middle of something... Clark-"

"That's great," Bertina said, unmoved. "I have someone on line one- they're extremely insistent."

"Oh, ask them to call back Monday," Frank told her. "Now get your coat, we're going for something to eat."

Impatiently, Bertina elaborated, "He says he thinks he used to work here."

Frank smiled but shook his head dismissively, "That's impossible."

Sandy explained, "Frank's never fired anyone."

"He says his name is Sam."

--

Clark ran home, sprinting the short distance back to his walk-up. He went straight to his dresser to find the engagement ring before opening his wardrobe and pulling out his best suit. He tucked the ring box safely into the inside pocket before gathering it all up, and propelling himself out of his apartment, up out of his balcony, into the cool night air.

He headed north again, back towards daylight, back to the Fortress. As he flew, he felt like he was shedding an old skin, casting away a veil that he had drawn over himself that had filtered light and dimmed colors. Agitated, exhilarated, he could feel himself allowing the light to come back in, could feel something building within him. A sense of anticipation. Of expectation. For the first time in months, in _years, _he felt alive.

In the Fortress, his fingers fumbled over the memory bank until he found the right crystal. He took a moment and commanded himself to catch his breath and to calm down. He applied pressure and the crystal activated.

"_When does a man's obligation to those around him exceed his obligation to himself?"_

Once more, Clark stood before his father.

"_These are not simple questions. I can only tell you what I myself believe. Even on Krypton there is no precise science which provides us with the answers." _

"People nearly died in that earthquake because of me." Clark breathed in, composed. "And before that, they died in the tsunami, and before that, they died when Zod murdered them in cold blood."

Jor-El's image paused and flickered, the recording concerned with recallibrating itself to address this new, unexpected, prompt.

"_You are one man among many. The responsibility for every citizen of Earth; their lives, their fate, does not fall solely onto your shoulders-"_

Again, Clark interrupted him. "But some of it does. A huge part of it."

"_It is unwise and unhelpful to assume total culpability for the twin ordinances of natural science and free will, Kal-El." _

Simply, almost with a smile, Clark said, "I'm not."

Jor-El flickered again.

"People get hurt because of me. Because of Clark. Because of my other life." Clark opened his hands, gestured at the chamber around him, "Because I have a life outside of all this."

Father and son eyed each other. Clark was not finished. "Maybe it would be better for the world if I gave that up? All of it? Completely? If I gave up Clark?"

He watched the image of his father blink on and off as its intelligence searched hours, years, of memory files, for the most appropriate response. The best it could come up with was,

"_...The reasons are two: First, even you cannot serve humanity twenty-eight hours a day-"_

"Yes," Clark agreed. "But it means that sometimes, I'll be too late. Sometimes, I will not be fast enough. Sometimes, I will be stuck in a meeting forced to watch while people _die_. That's what being Clark and being Superman means." Blue eyes met each other across a distance of millennia, of galaxies. "And that will never change."

Beside his father's face, Lara's image appeared. It was the first time he had seen them together. They both looked concerned. Clark said, "When does a man's obligation to those around him exceed his obligation to himself? When he's forced to make a choice between the two."

His jaw worked. His parents gazed upon him. Before them, he stood, tall and honest, feeling more sure of himself than he had ever been.

They were recordings, nothing more than holograms designed to offer guidance and advice. A trick of the light. And maybe it was a trick of the light, but he could swear he saw the briefest look of real emotion, of pride, play across their faces.

He addressed them. "Father, mother. I'm done choosing. I've had enough. I want it all. I want Superman, and I want Clark." He paused, looked up again, "And most of all, I want Lois."

--

That evening in Metropolis, unusually, Perry was the last to leave. He tidied away his desk so it was clear for Monday, plucked his coat from the stand and clicked off his desk light. He was busy turning the key in its lock when he heard a faint ringing sound from the other side of the door. For a second, he thought screw it and was going to walk away, but in the end he twisted the key and swung back into the darkness of the office to pick up the phone. It was his secretary, asking if he was busy. "No, I'll take it. Who is it?"

At her words, Perry straightened. "Put him through. Right away."

--

Lois was stood in her corridor, going through her purse. Perry was still in his office working when she had left for home. One way or another it had been an interesting day of role reversals. Intending to sound Richard out over her idea to bring him across as a replacement for Norm, last thing she had knocked on his door with an offer of going for drinks tonight. To her surprise, and- she was woman enough to admit- a little disappointment, he had said sorry, but he already had dinner plans.

Finding her keys, she opened the door and then she froze, half in and half out of the apartment. The lights were on. Had she left them on this morning? It was her habit to flip them off as she left for work. She thought hard but she couldn't remember...

There was a noise from the kitchen and her head flicked that way, "Hello?"

No answer. Adding steel to her voice she called out, "Is anyone there?"

With her blood rushing in her ears, holding the door open just in case, she gently bounced her purse in her hands, testing its weight. Deeming it no good she put it down and scanned the vicinity for something more suitable, silently scolding herself for not keeping a baseball bat more handy. Next to her shoe rack there was an umbrella- one of those compact ones you could fit in your handbag. She picked it up and it felt light and not at all threatening. She pulled it to extend the shaft to its full length of about two feet, tops, but it would have to do. She wedged the door open and stealthily edged forward, keeping close to the skirting. There were more noises and her scalp prickled- Oh my_ God._ _Someone was ransacking her kitchen and now they were coming this way_. Assuming an attack position, Lois cocked the umbrella as if she was at bat, and braced herself to strike...

"Hey you!"

Her sister cheerfully bobbled past with a trayful of food in her hands. Lois felt her entire body slacken against the wall. "Lucy! You scared _the living crap_ out of me!"

Happily oblivious, Lucy went to settle herself on the couch. "Sorry, I didn't hear you come in."

Eyes wide, Lois was still catching her breath back, "How did _you_ get in?"

Lucy shrugged, "My spare key." Only now did she look back and seem to notice anything was amiss. As a disclaimer, a little defensively, she added, "It was an emergency."

Finally relaxing, Lois came inside to take off her coat and put away her things. "What are you doing here?"

A wonderful smell of frying wafted out of the kitchen and an open bottle of Pinot Grigio with a glass filled to the brim was ready on the coffee table. Clearly having made herself at home, Lucy found the remote and flicked on the tv. "The house is being fumigated."

Lois slumped next to her sister so she could inspect what Lucy had conjured up for dinner up close. Fries and a cheesy omelette with mushrooms and chunky squares of onion- she'd raided her kitchen well. Lois stole a fry, "Because of the ants? I thought you guys did that already?"

"Well, we did. But it didn't really work." At her sister's raised eyebrows, Lucy held up her hands, "I know, I know. We should've listened. But it got personal with those little frickers." Lucy took a sip of wine and then gestured in the air, "Anyway, one thing led to another and last night we ended up calling that number you gave me. Now the garage is being sealed and we're not allowed inside the house for another twenty-four hours." She stabbed at a piece of mushroom decisively.

"Mmm." Lois munched on another fry. As if only just remembering, she looked around, "Where's everyone else?"

"David took the kids fishing," Lucy explained as she flicked through looking for the weather channel. "I thought I'd come see you!"

"I'm honored." Lois got up and went to find a glass. From the kitchen she called, "So, did Zach find his power ranger?"

Lucy poked the end of her fork in the air, "Let's just say that at Nina Ludlow's book group yesterday, Dale's mother couldn't look me in the face." She returned her attention back to the information on the television screen. "I hope they're going to be okay up there. Look at that, there's a storm front moving in." She frowned to herself, "I _knew_ I should've forced Elizabeth to take her thermals."

Lois poked around in the kitchen, looking for a couple of eggs to make her own omelette. She was starving. "Hey, did you leave any cheese for me?"

Lucy did not reply straight away. She called, "No. I used it all."

"Oh."

"Actually ...You have ...other dinner plans tonight."

Smiling, Lois came back in with a wine glass and some ketchup, "What are you talking-" When she saw Lucy's face, she stopped. "What have you done?"

Lucy bit her lip. "I met up with a couple of girls from the poetry class in town today..."

A look of horror and then accusation crossed Lois's face. "Oh no you didn't."

Lucy cracked, "I'm sorry! I had no choice!"

"There's always a choice!"

"But he's got no date!"

Lois opened her hands wide, "I don't care! This is- I can't believe you've done this!" She folded her arms petulantly. "I'm not going."

Lucy pushed the dinner tray to one side. "Please, Lois. For me? As a favor?" She clasped her hands together, "It's just dinner. One dinner." She swallowed. "I promised Ali that you'd go."

Lois's mouth moved wordlessly. "Ali?"

"His aunt- she's lovely!"

"Yes!" Lois agreed. "And she's setting him up because he can't get normal women to go out with him!" She appealed to her sister, "Doesn't that tell you anything?"

Lucy hunched her shoulders, "He's been hung up on this one girl- that's all!"

"It's pathetic!"

"Pathetic?" Lucy repeated. "You mean like spending Valentine's in front of the tv, eating Very Berry ice cream straight from the tub?"

Lois gasped in indignation. Lucy simply shrugged one shoulder: yeah, I said it.

With narrowed eyes, Lois dabbed her finger at her sister, "I resent that implication. It wasn't Very Berry, it was _Double Fudge_."

In desperation, Lucy sighed. "He's very good-looking... Apparently..."

"You don't even know his name!"

Lucy stood her ground, "I know that he sounds like a really sweet guy; unlucky in love, long-standing crush, she's not interested..."

"I know how she feels!"

Face falling, Lucy grimaced at Lois, worried and fretting. "I don't have his number. He'll be waiting for you."

"Let him wait."

"You can't leave him out on the street just standing there?"

"Me?" Lois spluttered, "Me? Why don't _you_ go? _You're_ the one who turned _Emma Woodhouse_ on my ass."

Lucy scowled, "You went out with a string of guys you never had any intention of seeing again, but you can't do this one thing for me?"

"Emotional blackmail?" Lois was nodding, "That's how low you're going to stoop?"

Taking a breath, Lucy reeled it back in in order to placate. "Okay, let's just calm down for a second, and think rationally about this."

Lois simply stared at her, "For the last time, Lucy; I'm not going on a blind date!" She calmly filled her wine glass. "And that's final."

--

About an hour later, showered and changed, Clark arrived in Metropolis just a couple of blocks away from his old place. Overhead, clouds were gathering and rain was in the air. People scurried home to get inside but Clark could only feel freshness, newness, the crisp vitality of the city, and he revelled in it. Feeling light and a little giddy, delighted that the stall was still here, he stopped to buy flowers. A bouquet of red tulips and pearl white snowdrops. In floriography- a declaration of love and of hope.

--

Under a streetlight on the other side of town, Lois clambered out of a taxicab, softly grumbling, "I can't _believe_ I let myself get talked into this."

The taxi pulled away and she puffed out a breath and straightened herself out, getting her balance on her high heels and her bearings on the street. The Italian place was just around the corner from here. Lucy had assured her this guy would be waiting outside. In the distance, the sky rumbled but Lois barely noticed. It was true, she looked gorgeous and she hadn't brought the umbrella, but getting rained on was the least of her worries.

Heading for the restaurant, she questioned why she felt so fluttery and nervous- it was not as if anything was at stake tonight. And Lucy was right, she had been on lots of meaningless dates before now. She just had to turn up and make nice and get this over with. The worst case scenario was simply that her date turned out to be not only odd- but boring.

Who am I kidding? She thought. The worst case scenario? She was meeting up with some random nobody on the strength of his crazy aunt Betty's recommendation and he could be anything; a psychopath? A serial rapist? _Who knows what_ kind of sexual predator? _That's_ why she was nervous.

She slowed down thinking about it. Okay, so it was statistically unlikely, or at least it would be extremely unlucky, if it actually happened that your blind date was any of those things... but on the other hand, she guessed that's what every woman thought- right before she was beaned over the head from behind and came to tied to the headboard with nylon rope and duct tape.

Chickening out, Lois started to turn back around. No, don't be an idiot, the voice of reason said; Lucy knows where you are- if anything happens, she'll be able to tell the police... Lois shook her head to remove herself from this debilitating train of thought- now you're just being ridiculous! And you read _way_ too many Stephen King novels.

When she reached the corner she paused and took a deep, calming breath. Here goes nothing. She rounded the corner so that the front of the restaurant was in view along this side of the road, about thirty feet away. Two green awnings were illuminated with soft yellow light either side of the entrance way. Just as Lucy had said, her date was outside on the sidewalk, just away from the entrance, waiting for her. She stopped. He was facing the wrong way but there was no mistaking who it was.

Lois could not believe her eyes. "Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me."


	12. Chapter 11

**A/N: nearly at the end of this thing now, guys. Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

Retreating back into the safety of the shadows, Lois retrieved her cell phone from her purse, thumbed in her home number, stuck out a hip, and waited.

Lucy picked up. _"Good evening, you've got through to the home number of Lois Lane. She's not in at the moment, but I'd be-"_

"Lucy, shut up, it's me."

"_Lois? Are you there yet? Is he there? Can you see him?"_

Evenly, Lois said, "Oh, I can see him alright."

"_Is everything okay?"_ Lois could hear the wince in Lucy's voice, _"How bad is it?"_ Then her voice dropped; _"...Is he really ugly?"_

"This guy's aunt Nora- your buddy from poetry class? Your partner in matchmaking crime? What did you say her name was?"

"_...Ali."_

Lois nodded. "Ali. Short for 'Alice'."

"_Sure." _

"Alice White."

Lucy could not be certain as to what exactly Lois was getting at, but it was clear by the brusqueness of her manner, she meant to get at something. _"Um, yeah, I think so. Our tutor doesn't really use last names?"_

"I'm telling you her name is Alice White."

"_...Okay."_

"And you know how I know?"

"_Um."_ Lucy tried, _"No?"_

"Because I'm looking at her nephew right now."

Lucy failed to see this as the grand revelation Lois's tone seemed to be implying. _"That's ...right. Isn't it?"_

Keeping her voice low, Lois intoned the words for emphasis, "Her nephew; _Richard_ White. Also the nephew of _Perry_ White. Alice's husband. My boss."

"_Wow! Small world!" _Lucy chirped, delightedly.

"No, Lucy, you don't understand. Richard White- _Richard White_. I work with him- at the Planet."

Lois waited for all the cogs to turn. Eventually, Lucy gasped, _"No. Way!"_

Lois was nodding deliberately.

"_The mariachi band guy! The one that you like more than you say you do!"_

"Exactly!"

There was a moment before Lois's nodding stopped. "Wait, what? No, I don't."

"_Yeah, you do. You told me you thought he was cute."_

Lois blinked. "I said I thought he was kind of cute. In a certain light. There's a difference..."

Still catching up, Lucy murmured excitedly to herself, _"I can't believe this! This is so crazy. All this time Ali and I have been talking about you two- and he's been him, and you've been you! And we didn't even know! Oh, wait until she hears about this..." _

Lois was impressed by how quickly her sister had commandeered the conversation, steering it to become less about Richard and the awkward situation Lois now found herself entangled in, and more about herself and Ali, and the general, wonderful, unpredictability of the universe. Lucy was babbling, _"This is just amazing!"_

Lois felt that Lucy was perhaps missing the point. "While you're busy being amazed and impressed by the happy coincidences of life, I better go straighten this mess out." She had Richard in her sights. He alternated between checking his watch and twirling a rose in his hands. Lois sighed quickly, exasperated. "Damnit, Lucy. I feel like Allen Funt. I feel like I'm about to go Punk him?"

"_Listen, I have an idea. It's kind of radical._"

Lois waited. "Yeah?"

"_Why don't you go over there, laugh it off, and try and have fun tonight; just for kicks?" _

Lois was offended. "I have fun! All the time."

"_With a man."_

Before Lois could answer, Lucy continued, _"Watching Cary Grant in _His Girl Friday_ doesn't count."_

Lois puffed. "I hate it when you do this; define my existence and judge my self-worth by the male company I choose to keep."

"Not_ to keep."_

"When I'm perfectly happy on my own."

"_C'mon Lois,"_ Lucy coaxed, not unkindly,_ "I'm not interested in attacking your feminist principles. Of course you _could be_ happy on your own, but you're not, and that's the point. Think things through. I'm talking about your future. You're going to end up old, and crotchety, and alone- spending your days writing letters of complaint to those yogurt lid people, and shaking a walking cane at the neighbors' children. Is that what you really want?"_

"See? I told you I know how to have fun."

"_Just promise me one thing, please."_

"What?"

"_Destiny called tonight. So just listen to your heart."_

Lois's eyes rolled- whatever _that_ might mean. And there was warning in her tone when she said, "I'll talk to you when I get home."

She ended the call, but not before Lucy could smug, _"And you said you didn't believe in fate."_

Shaking her head, Lois tucked the phone away. In front of her, Richard turned first this way and then the other, searching the street for someone who looked likely. Now he had his back to her again as he leaned against a street light. Lois stood treading water for a bit before inhaling another deep breath in preparation.

Richard heard the sound of heeled footsteps getting closer but was half-resigned to being stood up, so he didn't stir until he felt a light tap on his shoulder. Then a familiar voice said, "Hey."

He turned around, blurting "Lois!" in delight as he recognized her. He felt his smile fading as he took in her appearance; her hair was up, her eyes shimmered, and her lips were a shade darker than the color she usually wore at work. She looked so beautiful, so impossibly svelte and elegant, that for a moment he lost his breath. Unselfconsciously, he said, "You look- wow."

It was true that Richard didn't look so bad himself. Underneath his overcoat, she could see he was wearing an expensive-looking suit, and a dark shirt that was tieless and open stylishly at the neck. "Hi."

She watched sadness register on his face and she knew what was going through his mind. Here they both were, finally, and he was waiting to spend the evening with somebody else.

Ignoring the unfairness of it, he smiled, shrugging, "What are you doing here?"

"Uh." She pointed at the rose in his fingers. Seriously, but with a give-away glimmer in her eyes, she said, "I think that's for me."

--

Clark arrived at Lois's building and took the stairs to the seventeenth floor, relishing each step along the way. He felt that he was moving upwards both in body and in spirit. He had placed the engagement ring into his right trouser pocket and every time he planted his foot, he was aware of the exquisite weight and shape of the box.

He could hardly believe what he was doing. When he got to her floor he opened the door and worked his way steadily down her hallway. Nothing out here had changed- the mark on the ceiling, the creak of a floorboard. Everything was as he remembered and he found it reassuring that he could trust his memory in this way. He came to a halt directly outside her apartment and collected his thoughts. As a rule, Clark was not normally given to nerves, but his palms were _sweaty_ so he exchanged the flowers in his grip, wiping his hands down the side of his pants.

He remembered the last time he felt like this, remembered that she had been lying asleep in his arms at the time. God, years ago, now. But the feeling was the same. That at any moment his heart, so full of desire, and longing and love, might burst out of his chest. Standing at her threshold, the need to feel her touch, immediately, nudged him over the edge and he took a deep breath and knocked on her door.

From inside, he discerned movement and a voice, and on a reflex he squared his shoulders, quickly rearranging the bouquet in his hands as a last, pragmatic, thought went through his head; it was a good job she was home.

On the other side of the door Lucy wrapped up her conversation with Alice, "That's what I said!" She shuffled to the door, chuckling. "Listen, I've got to go, I'll see you next week." She beeped the phone off, glanced through the peep hole, and pulled the door open.

"LLucy?"

The tall man in front of her sort of strangled the word out. He was scrambling to put a pair of dark-rimmed glasses back on.

With the phone still in her hand, she lifted it in a gesture that was half acknowledgment and half surprise. Uncertainly, politely, she replied, "Hello..."

A brief, irrational panic swept over Clark. Was there some terrible mix up? Had she house-swapped? Had she moved? "Uh, is ...Is Lois here?"

"No, sorry, she's gone out for dinner." Lucy was squinting. She tried not to appear rude. "Do I know you?"

"Um, I don't think so-"

She smiled, frowning, "You knew my name..."

Clark pressed his lips together, thinking on his feet. "I... recognize you." He gestured with his hand, "From photographs. You're her sister, right? I work with Lois at the Planet."

Lucy nodded carefully. It was not that she didn't believe him- he seemed sincere enough. Only that there was something about him she couldn't quite pin down... She said, "Oh. Well, you must know Richard, then."

Richard? Clark felt his heart cramp. "Sure."

"That's who she's out with."

"Oh." The word was more noise than answer as the wind left Clark's lungs.

Lucy's eyes were twinkling. She leaned in, as if this stranger might share her joy: "_On a date._"

Another punch was delivered, squarely, to Clark's gut. The world shrank to the size of Lois's doorway, and on opposite sides of it, facing each other, were just himself and Lucy. He tried to match her smile, swallowing away the lump in his throat, ignoring the dull, profound, throbbing in his heart. "A date. That's... that's great."

Lucy peered at him more closely. "Are you sure we haven't met?"

Clark's head was swimming. "Um, I don't know- do you ever stop by the Planet?"

"No, to be honest, I'm not usually-"

"Perhaps you live in the area?"

"Uh, well. Actually-"

"Then how could we possibly have met? It's impossible!" Clark reasoned, a little manically.

Weakly, Lucy offered, "It's just... something about you, seems familiar..." The man nodded in understanding,

"I get that alot. I must have one of those faces." Now he was adjusting his glasses, "Anyway, I better get going." He dipped his head. "I'm sorry for disturbing your evening."

"That's okay," Lucy said, honestly. "Hey!" she called him back.

Clark stopped.

Lucy shrugged. "Would you like me to give Lois a message?"

A tortured look passed over the man's face. "No, that's okay."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded. "I'll... It was nothing. It was just. It was nothing. About work."

Softly, Lucy said, "What about the flowers?"

"Oh." Remembering them, Clark gazed at the reds and the whites of the petals. "These are for... someone else," he finished, lamely. "I should go."

"Who shall I say called?"

Momentarily, Clark was at a loss.

With warmth, Lucy nudged, "Your name?"

Clark said, "Ralph." Then inwardly kicked himself.

"Ralph?" Lucy did not say anything but she was secretly wondering at the fact that you just don't meet so many Ralphs these days.

Clark nodded at her in sympathy- simultaneously reading her mind, and agreeing with her.

To Lucy, this particular Ralph looked as though he might be about to keel over. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, I'm great." Clark fixed a small smile and made it stay there. "Nice meeting you."

With dissatisfaction, Lucy said, "Okay. Bye, then."

With forced cheerfulness, Clark replied, "Bye."

He escaped and Lucy closed the door. She leaned her back flush against it until it clicked. She frowned. What an odd conversation.

--

Even though her instinct had been to ignore Lucy and apologize and walk away- and she couldn't put her finger on why she had not- and even though the restaurant was quiet, and lit by candlelight, and full of couples leaning in and speaking softly to each other, Lois, to her surprise, was enjoying herself. She felt relaxed and comfortable. She was enjoying being with Richard. He was a lot of fun when he wasn't trying to convince her how much fun he was. Occasionally, the glow of the candle flame would catch the blue of his eyes right and she would find herself distracted there for a second. The line of his jaw was strong, and, sitting just across from him like this, she noticed how faint laughter lines formed in his cheeks whenever he smiled. There was no denying his was a handsome face. He was a handsome man- it would be disingenuous to ignore that. And even though she didn't say anything, she was impressed when he ordered their food in English, and then, when her lasagna and his spinach tortellini were brought out, he and the waiter shared a quiet word, a private joke in Italian. She liked it that he hadn't mentioned, until she had point blank asked, that he was fluent. It was an incredibly attractive quality to her, that kind of easy, understated, confidence. Clark radiated it, although it was impossible to say now whether that was just one of the reasons she had fallen in love with him, or if it was simply what had drawn her to him in the first place.

Now, as they finished their meal, she watched Richard as he topped up their glasses then set the wine bottle down again. He took a small sip from his glass, shaking his head. "Tibetan poetry class. She's evangelical about it- she's been trying to get Perry to go along with her for _years_."

Ever since they had sat down, all night, he had unable to take the goofy smile off his face. Now he sounded wistful, "I can't believe you're the one aunt Alice has been trying to set me up with. This entire time. And all I kept saying was 'No.'"

She smiled, "If it's any consolation, even if you had said 'Yes', over on my side- I was still very much saying 'No.'"

Richard chewed that over. "That does make me feel a little better." His eyes narrowed. "I think."

Lois started to chuckle- a low ululation from the base of her throat that made her lips quiver and her shoulders shake. Richard thought it might be the most charming thing he'd ever seen.

"What?"

"Nothing," she waved a hand. "It's just. I guess it is kind of funny."

"What?"

"All this time." Lois laid her arm across the table and swirled her wine, "Lucy's been campaigning tirelessly on your behalf. And I just imagined you were some kind of," she said the word with relish; "...tragic loser." She held a palm out to him. "No offense."

In return, he mirrored the gesture. "None taken." Joining her in this new spirit of honesty, he admitted, "I had you down as the quintessential ugly sister; you know, the one that could never get a date on Prom night."

Lois gave a playful, "Heey!"

His look said- you started it. "Anyway. Here we are." He picked at something on the white linen tablecloth. "I finally got you to come have dinner with me." A slow grin formed at the corners of his lips. "Even if it was by default."

Lois smiled shyly.

Richard decided to chance it and dangle out a line, "It's not so bad is it?"

Deliberately, mischievously, Lois glanced around the restaurant. "It's alright, I guess."

Richard affected an expression of hurt. "'Alright'? Do you know how long the waiting list for this place is? Do you have any idea the kind of strings I had to pull to get this reservation?" He nudged his head in the direction of the waiter from earlier, "I practically promised Vincenzo, over there, my first born child."

Lois's eyebrow raised interestedly. "And do you always go to this sort of trouble when booking a table for a woman you've never met?"

It was meant lightheartedly, as a joke, but Lois was surprised to see that Richard looked as though he had been found out. He fiddled with the napkin beside his plate. Then he smiled and cleared his throat. "Well. actually. I'm sorry to have to disappoint you, but, uh, the original reservation was meant for someone else." He rubbed at a spot behind his ear. "I'm afraid to say you were kind of a stand-in tonight."

"Oh." Despite her Kevlar-plated ego, Lois felt herself deflate a little. "What happened?"

"To my original date?" Richard seemed to be choosing his words. "I asked her out but I had trouble getting her to say 'yes.'"

He looked up and their eyes met.

"Ah." Lois glanced away. Reproachfully, softly, she told him, "You could've said."

He tilted his head. "And what? You would've agreed to come? On a pity date?"

"It wouldn't have been a pity date-" Lois insisted. She smiled crookedly, teasing him, "Marylin gave this place five stars."

Richard laughed.

Lois sighed. "Okay, then. Do you always book insanely expensive restaurants on the unlikely assumption I say yes?"

Richard hesitated. Quietly, he said, "No, just this once."

Lois waited. He looked up. "There's something I wanted to talk to you about. About work."

She wiped her hands with her napkin. "Oh, me too, actually."

"Oh?" Richard said, surprised. "You first."

"Nah, it's okay. Go ahead."

"Please."

For a moment Lois simply looked at him. Then she pushed her plate away and repositioned her wine glass, removing the physical barriers between them in order to better approach a matter of delicacy. She moved her chair forward and leaned closer.

"Perry's talked to you about Norm, right?"

Richard nodded. "It's a tough situation."

"But I don't think it should be- if the man's ill, he shouldn't feel beholden to anybody. Not even your uncle."

Richard sighed philosophically. "For what it's worth, I agree. And I think Perry does, too."

"I know he does," Lois said quickly. In a more measured voice, she continued, "It's just that. You can't escape the reality that retiring him-"

"-leaves a Norm Palmer-sized hole in the newsroom."

She nodded, "A big gap to fill in more than one way." They smiled at each other. Lois fidgeted at the base of her wine glass. "And it's just that, I had this idea. I was thinking, I was thinking that maybe you could... be the one to fill that gap?" She finished, glancing up to assess his reaction.

He was staring at her, a little bewildered. "Me?"

She shrugged lightly.

"Oh."

"I thought- I thought you liked working together?"

"I do!"

Lois gave a small laugh. "Then what's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said, emphatically. Then he ticked his head, "Well, no, that's not true. But, it's not that."

"I mean, I know it's not exactly a promotion, and, I have to be honest with you, I'm not sure about the pay differential, but-"

"No, I. I just can't take the job."

She smiled. "Why not?"

Richard smiled back. Softly, he said, "I think I'd have to have superpowers."

Lois felt her expression turn wary despite herself.

He explained; "To be in two places at once."

She frowned, confused by this turn of the conversation.

Richard wet his lips. "I'm quitting the Planet."

Lois's head moved forward. "What?"

"I'm going back home to Chicago. Conrad Francis asked me to be his deputy editor."

Lois sat back and blew the air out of her cheeks. "Wow."

Modestly, Richard breathed, "Yeah."

"Does Perry know?"

Richard nodded.

She winced, "For a while?"

He nodded again.

Lois's hands went to massage the bridge of her nose, and she groaned. No wonder he had been so weird. In a pained voice, she half-laughed, half-admitted, "I told him I thought you were restless. What an idiot." After a while, her hands dropped to the table, she sighed, "I had no idea you were even thinking about leaving Metropolis?"

Richard was shaking his head. "Neither did I. I mean, I wasn't." He shrugged. "It just came up."

Lois nodded. She began to straighten a crease in the table cloth. "When? When do you go?"

"Pretty soon. A few weeks."

"When were you going to tell me?"

Richard exhaled a breath. His eyes twinkled. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I've been trying to get you alone for a while now."

That annoyed her; "No, you've been trying to ask me out."

Richard bowed his head in contrition because she was half-right. Slowly, he said, "The thing is, I do like working together." He looked up. "I like it alot, actually." He stared at her. Time to suck it up and just lay it on the line. "And I was wondering. I was wondering if you'd like to come with me?"

She stared back. "What?"

He held her gaze. "I was wondering if you would come with me?"

Lois's forehead creased. "To Chicago?"

He opened his hands on the table, watching them, "I've kind of being given carte blanche to hire who I want. My own team. My pick of the country's best reporters." His eyes flicked back to hers, "And I want you."

Lois quirked her head, quickly re-evaluating the context of the evening. "Am I- am I being headhunted?"

There was a nervous laugh. "I guess you could put it that way."

A thought came to her, "Does Perry know you're doing this?"

Richard turned serious. "Offering you a job? Of course."

Somehow, that almost made Lois feel worse, like Perry and Richard had colluded, had gone above her head and decided things for her- and she living, breathing, _hated_ it when that happened.

"I know it's a lot to take in. But. Just-" Richard bit his lip, "Please tell me you'll think about it. I know it's a big deal. Just tell me you're not going to dismiss this out of hand."

His eyes searched hers.

A waiter, Vincenzo, arrived at the table to collect their plates. He smiled courteously, "Everything okay?"

**--**

Clark was sitting on the outer ledge of the Planet's rooftop, tie loosened, hair stirred by the breeze, legs dangling off the side- in the air- as if he was eight years old again and in short pants, watching his father from the old wooden gate. One thousand feet below him cars honked, traffic lights switched red, people walked. The city went about its evening. Spread out before him, the lights of Metropolis blinked and shimmered in the hazy night air. He plucked at the flowers in his hands, watching the petals flutter on the wind.

The engagement ring remained in its box, useless, in his pocket. He put the flowers down. So that was that. Lois and Richard. Richard and Lois.

The raw grip of jealousy and hurt had come and gone very quickly, even before he had left Lucy's sight. Instead, he was left feeling empty, and anger. A burning anger. With himself. This was no less than he deserved. But_ what the hell had he been thinking_? To jump back into her life again like this, to show up at her door and expect them to be able to just pick up where they left off? Like nothing had happened. Like nothing had changed. Like he hadn't been the one to end it all in the first place.

He felt the back of his neck prickle. Thank God, _thank God_ it had been Lucy who answered the door, and Lois had not been home afterall. He could barely imagine the hideousness of Lois standing there, forced to explain to him that she was involved with someone else. Imagine if Richard had been with her at the time! Oh God, imagine if it had been _Richard_ who had opened the door. Thoughts and nightmarish reunion scenarios Clark had spent years so successfully repressing- bumping into Lois on her wedding day, accidentally interrupting her honeymoon, meeting her, ten years down the line and being introduced to another man's children- began to resurface, and he had to instruct himself not to dwell on them. It was no good, and it was pointless.

So what now? He had already spoken with Perry. Had told him he was on his way to see Lois. Wheels were set in motion for him to come back. He was going to turn up for work in a couple of weeks, and there they would all be- himself, Lois, Richard, the unwilling players in an awful soap opera.

He should tell her. He _had_ to tell her. As a matter of courtesy, advance warning, if nothing else. He was replacing Norm Palmer- he and Lois would be working side-by-side. They might even end up as partners again. Except this time, they would be nothing more. She would belong to someone else.

His heart spasmed. Could he handle that? What were his options? He wondered how serious Lois and Richard were. He could go back and speak to Lucy? Maybe it was still possible to try and win her back?

He shook his head in disgust. That's it, Kent. Don't ruin her life once when you can go two-for-two.

Maybe it was better to talk to Perry again. Maybe the best thing was to forget this ever happened. Put it down to a crisis of confidence; a lapse; a moment of vulnerability in respect for a life he was consigning to the past.

Lois would never even have to know he had ever come back.

He checked his watch. It was coming up for nine-thirty. Nine-thirty in the morning in Bali. He better get back to his apartment. His flight left for Rio in a couple of hours and he hadn't even packed.

What a mess.

Above him, the sky finally gave way and it began to rain. Large, heavy, spots at first, and then a deluge. Droplets of water plastered his spitcurl to his forehead, streaked down his face, dripped off his nose. In a few moments, he was soaked.

**--**

"Chicago."

Richard nodded. "As my chief staff writer. With the salary package to reflect that, of course."

Lois ran her fingertips up and down the stem of her glass. A pay rise, a promotion, a new job, new town, new opportunity. These things spoke to her ego and her ambition. And there was so much baggage here in Metropolis- she could leave it all behind. No more awkward questions about Superman. She and Clark would no longer have to stalk the scene of major disaster areas actively avoiding each other like recent divorcees at a mutual friend's house party.

She let herself feel the pull of it. Then two dark eyes found Richard, and held him in their gaze. "Where does that leave us?"

"What do you mean?"

She looked away and back again. "You know what I mean."

He looked helpless.

"I changed my mind," she said, eyes twinkling, "I'm not being headhunted." She smiled dangerously, "Maybe this is the casting couch?"

Richard choked, "Are you serious?"

"Well, is it?"

"_No_!"

"Richard, look where we are." Her tone softened and she spoke carefully, "Don't you think I notice the way you look at me?"

He reddened and Lois immediately regretted saying anything. He replied steadily, "I swear to you- this is nothing like that- I wouldn't... I'm not like that."

Lois shook her head in apology. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought your feelings into this. It was unfair of me. And dishonest."

Richard wasn't quite finished. "But. I can't deny that I have more than a professional interest in you. And I won't. And I'm not going to apologize for the way I feel."

He was staring at her and Lois didn't think she had ever seen him looking quite so intense. It made her want to alleviate the weight of the moment.

Her fingers fidgeted on the table. "I know, I'm sorry." She smiled with her eyes, "And I know you'd never sacrifice your integrity-" she flicked her hand, looking sideways, "for a crush."

There was a beat. "A crush?"

Lois stopped. Richard appeared puzzled. Embarrassed to have misread the situation so badly, she quickly backtracked, "...Or, you know..." Her hand moved in the air, "Whatever..."

"Lois." He practically whispered. In wonder, he gazed at her. Was it possible _she still didn't get it_? "You must know that I'm head over heels in love with you."

The middle of her eyebrows shot up in surprise, "Oh!" She floundered, "I. Oh. Um..." Struggling, she gave up. "I don't know what to say."

Richard could hardly believe her. "You didn't know?"

"I mean, of course I knew- there were-" Lois's hand was flapping again, "...strong feelings. But-"

Richard dipped his head. "You're the best reporter I've ever met. The hardest working, the most talented." He looked up, "But that happens to be a lucky break for me." He was staring at her again. "I want you to come with me- I want you to be with me."

"Richard," she breathed. She shook her head. "I can't."

"Lois-"

Her look made him stop. Simply, honestly, she said, "I don't feel the same way."

"But could you? If you gave yourself the chance?"

There was sadness and fondness in her eyes. She swallowed. "I don't think so."

A short silence fell between them.

Richard licked his lips. He tried to weigh up whether it was a good idea to mention it. In the end, he thought screw it- there wasn't much to lose anymore. "Whenever I've tried to get close to you, there's always been something getting in the way." His gaze was level. "And it's always been Clark."

Caught offguard, she flinched.

His jaw was working, "You know. When I first arrived. 'Superman'. That's what everyone said. That I didn't have a chance, because you were hung up on Superman."

Remembering, Lois was silent. Richard's eyebrow raised. "But it's always been him."

"Clark has nothing to do with this."

"He's gone. And he left you."

Slowly, evenly, she repeated, "He's nothing to do with this."

In reproof, Richard scoffed, "Lois."

With warning in her voice, she told him, "This is about me. How I feel about you."

"Don't you see? You're holding on to something that isn't there anymore."

"I'm not holding on to anything."

"When are you going to let him go?"

She closed her eyes as weariness washed over her. "Please don't talk about this like you understand." She gazed at him again, "Because you don't. No one does."

With the edge of his voice he hissed, "Then_ make me understand_. I want to. _Please_."

She didn't speak at first. She just shook her head. There was sorrow in her expression. "I know what it's like. To give your heart to someone. To want them _so badly_, your pulse races just thinking about it." Her eyes were faraway. A knowing smile appeared on her lips. "To have it be the thrill of your life, just to stand near them." Her eyes flicked back to his. She had returned. "You deserve to have someone feel that way about you."

He couldn't disguise that that stung. He swallowed. "I want you."

"But I don't want you. I can't settle for second best." Her voice dropped, but her tone was steady, "And that's what I'd be doing."

Richard shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Maybe, in time, a couple of years down the line, you might feel-"

"Maybe." She smiled kindly. "But it's not fair. To you. To me."

He frowned at her, a look that was beseeching. "I always felt like there was something there. Was I wrong?"

She sighed, discontented. She wanted to find the right words, the truthful words. That's what she owed him. She knew how it would sound. "I like you. I like you alot. You've been ...a really good friend."

With a small, dark, chuckle, Richard hung his head. However eloquent, however trite. In the end, a kiss-off was a kiss-off.

Lois bent her head too. She shrugged. "I don't know. In another time, another place, if things had worked out differently..."

He looked at her. "I would make you the happiest woman in the world, I swear to God."

She met his gaze. "I know."

He nodded, and inhaled a deep breath through his nose. "So. What happens now?"

Dryly, she replied, "I guess Norm has to stay. Chronic health issues be damned."

His head cocked in amusement and forbearance. "I meant with you."

She sobered again. "I don't know."

"Is this how it's going to be? For the rest of your life? Don't you want more?"

Lois chuckled humorlessly at the assumption that one could choose or direct one's happiness in life according to personal preference. When in the end, all you really could place faith in and trust was the truth: "I love him," she said simply. "There's no one else."

There was nothing else to say.

By mutual decision, they decided to end the date here. It was not as if they had fallen out, but something had changed between them and it didn't feel right to draw out the evening. Richard asked Vincenzo to order a couple of taxicabs.

While they were inside, it had rained heavily. Outside the restaurant, the sidewalk was slick and reflected street lights where water had formed in dips in the pavement. Lois looked up. The clouds were gone, the sky was midnight-blue and clear. A bright half-moon shone directly above her. "What a beautiful night." The night air had turned chill and as she spoke, her breath puffed white then evaporated. "I think there's going to be a frost."

They turned to face each other. She had her arms wrapped tight around her, Richard's were buried in his pockets.

He offered her a small grin, hunching his shoulders. "See? And you thought tonight was going to be really awkward."

It broke the tension and they laughed a little. Her expression turned serious again. She shook her head. "I don't regret tonight. I'm not sorry."

Richard answered truthfully. "Me neither."

A silence neither strained or comfortable lingered between them again. He said, "Well. I guess this is where we say goodbye."

Without saying anything, Lois came forward. With deliberate movement she raised herself up onto her toes, tilted her face and kissed him sweetly on the lips.

Richard restrained the instinctive urge to not let her go, to not let her lips leave his, to back her up against the lamp post and _show_ her her mistake. When she pulled away he settled for whispering, "Not quite the first kiss I had in mind."

She smiled. They were still standing so close, it was maddening. With the pad of his thumb he touched her chin, trying not to stroke it. He held her with his eyes, "Are you sure this is what you really want?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

"Because, if it's a question of time. I'd wait for you."

She said nothing, but her eyes spoke for her, and whatever chance or promise had once existed there, it was gone, and he could see it.

"Plus. You know." He half-turned away from her and gave a little nudge with his shoulder. "I have half a peanut-butter sandwich with your name on it..."

She laughed again. The orange light of a taxi appeared at one end of the street and got closer until it arrived and the cab rolled to a halt alongside them. They shared a steady look. Lois said, "I'll see you at work."

He gave her a small, gentlemanly nod and stepped back to open the car door for her. "Bye, Lois."

She lowered herself gracefully inside and he closed the door. He watched the cab until it made the turn and was out of sight.

--

"Clark Kent. C for Clark. K for Kent."

Frank was hunkered over a travel desk while the booking clerk re-checked her airline's passenger details. She looked up from the computer terminal. "I'm sorry, sir, according to this, no one by that name travelled with us, today."

Behind Frank, the line was was getting longer and visibly less patient. To his left, Sandy and Rebecca, and the rest of the staff hovered. Rebecca was sat on lookout on Eko's shoulders. Frank rejoined them. Henry, Howard and Bertina offered their considered opinions;

"Maybe he caught a later flight?"

"Maybe he caught an earlier flight?"

"Maybe he didn't even go?"

As a group, they all looked very smart. Sandy was wearing her best dress, Bertina was wearing a hat and Henry had polished his boots. Most significantly of all, Frank was buttoned up in a shirt and tie with a starched collar. Now he worried at it.

Behind them, sat bouncing his knee, waiting politely, was the Mayor of the city and either side, a couple of aides that Frank recognized from the night at the Oceania. With them was a photographer sent from the Java Post.

Frank muttered to himself, "I should've made him stay until after Rio. I knew it." Out the side of his mouth he whispered to Howard, "How's His Honor looking?"

Over Frank's shoulder, Howard stole a surreptitious glance. "He's looking at his watch."

"He's not late yet," Sandy pointed out. "Have you ever known Clark to be late for anything?"

Frank sighed, "He's cutting it mighty fine today."

Suddenly, Rebecca pointed, "Hey, there he is!"

To Frank's audible relief, Clark, looking as well-kept and respectable as always in slacks and a crisp short-sleeved shirt, was crossing the airport entrance area and purposefully making his way to the travel desk, a hold-all was slung over his shoulder.

Sandy grinned widely. "Right on time."

When he saw them, Clark detoured towards them, dropping the hold-all to shake Frank's offered hand. "Hey!" He addressed the rest of the group with a delighted smile, "I wasn't expecting to see you guys."

"Are you kidding?" Henry joked. "Anything to get in the papers."

Eko touched his shoulder, "You didn't think we'd let you carry the burden of glory all on your own, did you?"

Clark chuckled, but he was touched. "I can't believe you all came, just to come see me."

Howard cleared his throat to speak, and to Clark he seemed uncharacteristically coy, "Well, actually. Funny you should mention that..."

Frank came between them, "Guys, sorry, can we do the catching up thing in a second? The Mayor's waiting. Clark?"

Clark nodded. Under his breath he said, "I'm ready for my close up, Mr DeMille."

To Howard's grudging professional approval, the photographer from Jakarta organized the ensemble into a group photo- with Clark and the Mayor stood at its center, shaking hands. As the flash went off, Clark considered the irony- potentially the most miserable day of his life, recorded for posterity.

Once the formalities were over, the Mayor offered a quick but sincere word of congratulation for his achievement, and in the twirl of a tailored business suit, he was gone. When Clark turned back around, everyone was staring at him, the unmistakably agitated look of expectancy in their gaze. By unspoken consent, the group's foreperson seemed to have been nominated in favor of Sandy.

"So?" she asked. "How'd it go? You did go, right?"

Clark took in a breath that lifted his shoulders. He nodded. "Yeah, I spoke to my old boss. He offered me my old job back."

There was no mistaking the tightness of his smile. Sandy faltered. "But with Lois?"

Clark had found an interesting spot on the floor. One hand smoothed down the hair on the back of his head. "Yeah. It, uh... It didn't really work out."

Seven faces fell.

"Did you see her?"

"No. Actually. Lois was... She was... Well, I guess she's seeing somebody," Clark finished, matter-of-factly.

Sandy's hands went to her cheeks. "Oh, Clark."

"No," he shrugged it off, "I'm okay. Really." He smiled, "Ancient history. I don't know what I was thinking. I just got caught up. In the moment."

Into the silence a small voice said, "Does that mean you'll stay?"

Clark hitched one trouser leg and knelt down so he was level with Rebecca. He shook his head. "I don't belong here. I belong there."

Rebecca nodded- determined to be stoic like she had promised herself, but a hitch of breath escaped her.

"Hey, I'm not going yet." Clark ducked to find her eyes. "I'll be right back here in a couple of days. I have to clean out my apartment. Then I have to work my notice- my boss will make sure of it-" Clark stage-whispered, "he's kind of strict like that."

It raised a tentative smile, and she stubbornly wiped her eyes with the back of her fists.

"And I'll come back and visit- I'll write you all the time?"

"No, you won't." Rebecca argued, desperately. "That's just something people say to make you feel better, and they never mean it."

Clark thought about this. "Haven't you ever had a pen pal?"

Miserably, Rebecca nodded- "When my best friend in Math class moved back to the States."

"And did you write to her?"

"No!" Rebecca blurted. "And I said I would. And I never did- that's how I know!"

In a serious tone, Clark said, "Okay. Well. I guess I'll just have to keep in touch enough for the both of us." He paused, "And, if all else fails, I'll talk to my friend, Superman. I'll send him along to remind you to write and then you won't even have to pay a postal charge."

Through tears, that won a gulped grin, and the little girl threw her arms around Clark's neck to articulate that she really did understand that he had to go and she would do her best not to miss him too much.

Over the PA system, his flight and gate number was called.

"I better get going." Clark rose to his feet. "Thanks so much for coming, guys. It. It really means alot."

They were all exchanging furtive glances. Again, it was Sandy who spoke up. "Well, see. It's actually kind of a double whammy thing."

Frank added, "Kind of two birds with one stone."

Clark must have looked puzzled. Guilelessly, Bertina threw in, "We were coming here, anyway."

"Oh."

Howard caught Clark's attention. Softly, he said, "We're here to meet Sam."

Clark answered automatically before his brain could make the necessary connections- "Sam?"

Howard sort of swayed on his feet. "He called. Right after you left."

"Sam?" Clark said again, in disbelief. "He's alive?"

Howard's eyes were shining. He shrugged, nearly laughing, "Retrograde amnesia. He's been living under the name 'O'Neill' in a hospital in Sumatra ever since they found him washed up on a beach."

"O'Neill?"

Howard nodded, smiling at the madness of it all. The ridiculousness. "The name of the wetsuit they found him in!" He embraced his friend in a hug. "Clark. He's coming home."

"Oh my God." Clark nearly giggled for sheer joy. "Howard."

"I know!" Howard stepped back, in a rush he went on, "I don't really know, he was trying to tell me- something about seeing that earthquake on tv, and, you know, it jogging the memories, but..." He stopped, breathless, "He's alive."

"That's incredible."

"I know!"

"I'm so happy for you."

Clark watched Howard's face darken. He whispered, "I'm so sorry about Lois."

Clark shucked his shoulders at the group. "Come on, I'll be okay." He rubbed at the back of his neck. "You know me."

The announcement for his flight was made over the loudspeakers again. Clark picked up his bag. "I better go."

"Clark." It was Frank. "If you change your mind. If you ever change your mind. You have a job here for life, you know that."

He nodded.

"We'll be here when you get back."

He gave them a crooked smile. "I'll see you in a couple of days."

--

Lois let herself in. The lights were turned down low but the television was still on. From the couch, she could hear light snoring. Quietly, carefully, she slipped off her slingbacks and removed her coat. She crept away to go to the linen closet and came back into the room to tuck a blanket around Lucy.

Lucy began to stir. Blearily, she rubbed at her eyes, "Did I fall asleep?" She sat herself up, "What time is it?"

Lois pulled away a cushion to settle in beside her sister. She flicked off the tv. "Late."

"Oh, do you want some privacy?" Still foggy with sleep, Lucy started to get up, "I'll move."

"Lucy, it's just me." She shook her head, "I didn't bring him home."

"Oh." Lucy relaxed. After a moment she said, "Why are we whispering?"

Lois hesitated. "I don't know."

They chuckled. Lucy sniffed. She manoeuvred the blanket around her shoulders like a cape. "So. How'd it go? You and Richard White."

Briefly, Lois debated how much she should reveal here. In the end, she decided she was through with being guarded and discreet. She fiddled with her ear to unhook one earring. "He told me that he's leaving for Chicago and that he wants me to go with him."

It was certainly true that Lucy was not expecting that as an answer. "Oh."

Lois unhooked the other earring. "And he told me that he was in love with me."

"All on a first date?" Her eyes widened, impressed, "You work _fast_."

Lois closed the earrings in her palm, then deposited them on the coffee table. She gave Lucy a reproving glare. "It seems that he's felt that way for quite some time."

"Wow." Lucy nodded to herself. "He wasn't playing it cool, then?"

"Not exactly."

"I knew it," Lucy decided. "Ever since you told me about the mariachi band. I mean, who does that?" She wiped some sleep out of her eye. "I thought you said it was just a crush?"

Lois was shaking her head softly, "I thought it was!" She stopped, reconsidering. "No- maybe I did know all along. I just didn't want to admit it."

"What do you mean?"

Lois leaned back against the couch. She was looking into the air. "Tonight was great. I mean, it was perfect. Really perfect. Dinner was perfect, the wine was perfect," she laughed at herself, throwing up a hand, "the old guy, playing the violin- was perfect." Her voice dropped, "And there I was. Sat opposite a man, a good-looking man, listening to him telling me he loved me. A man who makes me laugh, who respects me, who has a well-paid job, and he's charming, and interesting, and we have a ton in common..." She stopped to glance at Lucy. "And did I mention he was good-looking?"

Lucy smiled. Lois continued, "He has integrity, and I respect him, and he has a wonderful heart." She swallowed. "He kind of ticks all the boxes, you know?"

Lucy whispered back, "So where's the catch?"

Lois smiled beatifically. "That's just it. There isn't one." She rolled her head to find Lucy's eyes with her own. They were pleading. "So why is it still not enough?"

Lucy, despite her well-known mistrust of Lois's romantic fallibility, understood true love. She surprised Lois by answering coolly, "Because when you meet the person you want to spend the rest of your life with, you very quickly realize that your ideas about contentment and happiness stop being about _what_ you want, and become focused, almost entirely, on _who_ you want. And that can be stubbornly specific."

Their eyes met. Lois's shined with honesty, and helplessness, and resolve, "I want Clark, Lucy. I want him. I don't want a replacement." She rasped, "I'd rather spend a lifetime alone than have that."

Lucy reached out and pulled Lois into a hug. She kissed the top of her head. She was so sorry. "I had no idea you felt this way." She sighed, speaking into her hair, "What are we going to do with you, huh?"

Lois laughed tearfully, "I don't know." She stayed in Lucy's arms. Eventually, a muffled voice said, "Lucy?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you promise me that you'll still love me, even when I'm old, and crotchety, and spend my days writing letters of complaint to those yogurt lid people, and shaking a walking cane at the neighborhood children?"

Lois felt Lucy smile. "Yeah."

"And you'll remember to have me over for Christmas and birthdays, right?"

"We'll get you your own chair, and one of those adjustable tables. You can be crazy old aunt Lois, over there in the corner."

Lois blurted a laugh that ended in a snotty snivel. "Thanks." She wiped her eyes dry.

Lucy hugged her tight, feeling that she understood her sister better than she ever had, "I'm so proud of you. Do you know that?"

"I love you, too."

Lucy sighed. "I'm sorry for all those times I kept on at you. I'm sorry I forced you into going tonight."

Levelly, Lois said, "No, you're not."

Lucy chuckled, admitting, "You're right."

They separated, sat upright again. Lois breathed in a recovery breath. She wiped her hands down her legs. "So. Have you spoken to 'Ali'?"

Lucy grinned. "I called her up pretty much immediately after I hung up with you."

Lois's hands went to her face. Through them, she groaned, "Oh God. Perry's never going to let me hear the end of this."

Thinking about Perry, and having to face work on Monday, Lois frowned, "I don't suppose Mr Black called while I was gone?"

"The hornblower?"

Lois couldn't stifle a smile, "Whistleblower."

Her sister shook her head. Lois nodded.

"Hey, someone came by the apartment, though."

"Oh, yeah?" The day's events catching up with her, Lois yawned. "Was it Mrs Engel? I lent her some books."

"No, it was a guy."

"Oh."

"He said he was from work." Lucy scratched at the top of her head. "It was kind of weird, actually."

Lois sniffed. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know," Lucy admitted, thoughtfully, but unhelpfully. "He just seemed... kind of on edge. Nervy."

Lois's bottom lip pouted. Jimmy hadn't mentioned anything about coming over. She squinted at Lucy. "What did he look like? Kind of on the short side?" Lois circled her finger at her neck, "With a bow tie?"

"No."

Lois was stumped. Unless... No! ...Could it?

Had the whistleblower paid her a visit? In person?

Lucy pointed at her eyes. "He had glasses."

"Did he leave a name?"

She nodded once. "Ralph."

Lois stopped cold. "What did he want?"

"He said he'd catch up with you at work."

She relaxed a little. "What did you say?"

"I just told him you were out with Richard." Lucy touched her lips together, wondering, "You know, it's funny. You just don't meet so many Ralphs these days."

"No," Lois said slowly, "you don't."

Finished with that thought, Lucy shook her head, "Anyway." She patted Lois on the knee. "I've got a busy day tomorrow- supervising the reopening of my home." She raised her hands in a silent cheer before leaning over to plant a loud kiss on her sister's temple. "Night."

Lois, distracted, replied, "Night."

When Lucy was nearly out the room, Lois called out, "Lucy?"

Lucy turned back. "Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"Waiting up for me."

In the semi darkness, Lucy grinned. "Don't stay up too late."

--

Lois didn't. But she was still woken up far too early. She lurched around for her bedside table, trying to end the pitiless and incessant ringing of her telephone before it disturbed Lucy next door.

"Hello?" She croaked.

The next second she sprang up in bed, wide awake. "When?" She winced, "_Twenty minutes_? Nooo, I'll be there."

She put the phone down, and blew the sweep of hair off her face. Twenty minutes?

Lifting away the covers, she got out of bed and drew back the curtains, dressing by the gathering light outside. She had been right about the frost. While she had slept, a light dusting of ice had coated the bottom of her bedroom window. She wrapped up warm, pulling a scarf from the back of her door.

She stole through the apartment in her socks, pocketing her car keys and retrieving her cell phone and wallet from last night's purse. Before she left, she went to see Lucy. Lucy was lying, in spreadeagle fashion, fast asleep on the futon in the study. Lois leaned over to peck her on the forehead and wrote her a quick note telling her to call once she got home.

She pulled the apartment door gingerly closed and took the elevator to the ground level parking garage. As she stepped out onto the concrete lot, her footsteps echoed and she jangled the keys in her coat pocket.

She felt a tremendous lightness, an inner contentment that had not existed before last night. She had admitted she was still in love with Clark, and she always would be. Somehow, it was a fantastically liberating state of mind. So what if she never experienced that kind of love again? She felt privileged to have known it at all, and she felt to accept anything less than that would be detrimental to the soul.

As soon as she was within range, she held her key fob up and beeped off the central locking. She was opening the car door when her cell buzzed and she flipped it open- grimacing when she saw the number. Great. But if he was going to gloat, she was ready to counter that by raking him over some coals for not telling her about Richard and Chicago. "Chief."

He sounded fantastically enthused for such an early hour, but his answer was an indecipherable garble, _"...know ..ark ...spoken to you yet?" _

Lois squinted to concentrate harder. "Spoken to who? Noah's Ark what? Oh, it's not raining again, is it?"

"_...believe it. ...job back-"_

Lois pressed her free hand to her free ear. She was shouting, "Did you say Black? Yeah, I'm going to meet him now."

"_...Norm-. ...funny... partners again..."_

"Norm? What? Chief, I'm in my parking garage- it's a really weak signal. What was that about Norm?"

Lois's ears strained to more silences and irritating snatches of half-sentences from the other end of the line. This was ridiculous "Chief- I can't hear you, you're breaking up. Listen, I'm going to be late- I'll call you back in a little bit, okay?"

She hung up and got into the car.

Outside, it was quiet, the rest of the city was still waking up. It must have been a cold night because where the roads were still in shadow, they were glazed with ice, and when Lois drove through sunlight, the surface glared.

She checked the time on the dashboard. This morning, Mr Black had suggested meeting in the Mystery/Thrillers section of the public library. The building was only a five-minute drive away so Lois did not necessarily have a problem with his choice of venue in and of itself. Rather, she felt it was indicative that he was enjoying this spy game business a little too much.

As she closed in on the street a couple of blocks away from the library's parking facility, just ahead of her, in the left hand lane, a sandwich delivery truck was reversing out of a side alley. Beyond that, coming this way, a red Honda Civic was approaching. Whether it was because the sun was low in the sky directly behind Lois, or whether it was because the driver of the Civic was simply not paying adequate attention, at the last moment, the Honda swung out into Lois's side of the road.

On a reflex Lois hit the car horn and a loud drone was followed a half-second later by the piercing screech of tire on tarmac, as both cars slammed the brakes to avoid a head-on collision. Ordinarily, there might have been time, but underneath her, Lois felt the wheels spinning uselessly as they failed to find purchase on the icy road surface. Two headlights and a grill flashed past as Lois yanked the steering hard left.

Turning three hundred and sixty-five degrees, the Audi slammed, broadside, into the side of the truck where it rebounded before coming to a dead halt.

The eerie stillness that followed was broken by the sound of two car doors opening and quick feet. There was a strong scent of antifreeze and burning rubber. The driver's side of the Audi was crumpled like tissue paper and the glass in both the windscreen and driver's door had shattered. Lois came to not more than a few seconds later. Her airbag had inflated and she lifted her head from it feeling groggy and sore where the seatbelt had cut into her shoulder. Almost immediately, she became aware of a new, searing pain of unholy proportions in her left leg.

Through the fog, a female voice that sounded young and terrified was saying, "Oh my Gosh! Oh my Gosh! I'm so sorry! I tried to stop!"

Another voice, a man's voice was calmer and closer. "Miss? Miss? Are you okay?"

Lois tried to focus but could only make out the blurry face of someone who was trying to look into her eyes. And who smelled like fresh bread.

The man said, "It's okay, I think she bumped her head."

Lois felt like she wanted to say something. To assure them she was okay, and that if they could just give her a push, she'd be most grateful and she'd be on her way. She attempted to clear her thoughts, to organize them into the appropriate shape. Instead, she heard herself slur, "Here's the story on that East 19th Street murder spree, Chief..."

The man said, "Miss. I think you bumped your head. Don't move! I've called an ambulance."

"...Page one with a banner headline seems about right to me..."

The driver of the truck was pleased to see that the Audi driver's eyes were not dilated but they were wandering, and the lady was clearly delirious. It also worried him that she had started to bleed from a wound on her forehead, so it was a relief to hear sirens in the distance. "Miss! Miss! Just hold on, they're coming!"

"Uh, my leg." Then Lois groaned- a noise that sounded weird and disconnected even to her own ears. A last thought danced briefly through her mind- that she was never going to get to the bottom of this frigging whistleblower story- before her eyes rolled back and she entered a wonderful sanctuary of peace and oblivion. She fainted.

--

Clark was not one hundred percent sure who the man on stage was, but he was apparently important, and whichever award recipient went up to collect their prize, they seemed glad to shake his hand and share a private word.

Projected onto the back wall behind the man, the words United Nations Correspondents Association Awards were accompanied by a logo of the Earth wrapped in a laurel wreath, and the slogan; _'Global Communication for a Global World.' _A global world. Clark couldn't help but be bothered by the tautology.

He was sat on a table towards the back of the banquet hall, in the Hotel Royale, in Copacabana. Place cards on the table informed him that colleagues drawn from all over the global world of communication surrounded him, and although he had not participated much in the after-dinner conversation, it was good because he was able to disguise his increasing boredom and lack of concentration by clapping along politely when everyone else did.

He checked the running order of the evening again. He was supposed to have been called to collect his award before cocktails were served, so, by his estimation, they were at least an hour late. A tired yawn escaped him, and he loosened his bow tie. Arriving late last night, he had barely had time to get to his room and unpack when a news item on his television alerted him to an oil tanker in trouble off the coast of Norway.

The man on the stage was still talking. While he waited, Clark picked at his place card, mulling things over. Sam was alive, and he was coming back, but it didn't really change things. There was no question he could change his mind and stay in Bali if he wanted to. But he wanted to return home. He wanted to go back to Metropolis. Lois had moved on- that much was clear. He would just have to pretend he had too. Perhaps, eventually, if he could just keep telling himself he was over her, some kind of critical mass would be reached and he would one day believe it.

He flicked the place card away. He wondered how long would be considered long enough to stick around after collecting his prize before heading back to his room, and not appear rude.

--

Jimmy wiped his palms on the front of his jeans and got up and paced the length of his living room again. His cell phone rested, tantalizingly, in the center of his coffee table.

Not only was it against his nature, but it contravened every newsroom dictum to go against the wishes of Lois Lane, and the thought made him antsy- even though, if it came to it, he thought he had a fair chance of out-running her- at least for a couple of months.

In his mind's eye, he could easily picture her this morning, insisting there was nothing to worry about, that she was getting crutches and would be back at work on Tuesday and that, no, it was fine, her sister was coming to pick her up tomorrow. She was adamant that there was no need to worry Perry- just tell him she had turned her ankle. When Jimmy noted, quite reasonably, the rather ugly black eye and other tell tale cuts and bruises she was sporting, she paused and told him she would explain everything to Perry once she saw him.

For a patient who had suffered a severe concussion only twenty-four hours previously, Jimmy found her to to be remarkably lucid and clear in her instructions that the details of her accident were to be considered private and nobody else needed to know. _Nobody. _She had read his face. _Especially not Clark_.

This is what worried him. But some things were more important. He stared at his cell phone. The time was eleven pm. In Rio, they were only an hour ahead.

--

Hearing his cell phone ringing was so infrequent an occurrence, Clark did not immediately react. In order to extricate himself from the table, he had to squeeze past knees and the backs of chairs, and as he did so, he was treated to a Ziegfeld Follies-esque choreography of disapproving looks and tutting, despite his apologies.

Outside, in the safety of the lobby, he was able to check the caller. He grinned at this unexpected ray of sunshine bursting through to illuminate a grey couple of days. He slid the phone open, "Hey, Jim! This is a surprise! How's it going?"


	13. Chapter 12

**A/N: well, this is it, readers- the final chapter. A half-completed version of it has existed ever since I started this shindig and the front-half became the prologue. Over a year later (!), I can't tell you how satisfying it is to finally arrive back here.**

**There is an epilogue to follow and there FKG will endeth. I know I've put you through the wringer with this story, so, in the meantime, hope you enjoy this... :D**

* * *

The shadow of a smile crossed Clark's face. He ran one hand through his hair disturbing the spitcurl, causing it to flop onto his forehead and Lois's heart to double-time on a beat before he folded his fingers in his lap again. "I'll mention it to my stylist."

She fussed with the edge of her bed sheet. "It's kind of late. Aren't visiting hours over?"

Clark's eyebrows raised. He inclined his head towards the door. "I talked to Annette."

Dark eyes focused on blue. "Annette?"

"The duty nurse." Clark thumbed backwards, "I told her I was a personal friend of Superman and that I could arrange for a visit to the Pediatric unit."

Lois blinked. "You talked to Annette?"

He looked solemn. "Yes."

Her finger poked in the direction of the door and then back at herself, "You talked to Annette, the duty nurse, offering a personal appearance of Superman in return for coming in to see me?"

This was correct. Clark was nodding. "...Yes."

"You _bribed_ Annette. A healthcare professional. Using sick children as leverage?"

His lips touched together as he mulled that over. "Yes."

Lois glanced to one side, "Damn." She clicked her cheek; "Why didn't I think of that when I wanted a room with cable?"

Clark dipped his head. When he looked up his eyes were shining, an eyebrow was raised, "...I also had to promise her I wasn't going to overexcite you."

Their eyes met and lingered for a second longer than was probably sensible.

"So what happened?" His gaze tracked her body.

Lois shifted to straighten against the headboard a little. "What did Jimmy say?"

"That your car looks like you Evel Knieveled off the Grand Canyon." She watched his eyebrow twitch, "And missed."

She nodded, shrugging it off. "It was just an accident. A teenager- messing with her radio. We both swerved except there was a half-ton truck in my way. I think she's been more traumatized than me." Lois lifted her right hand, to a glass vase brimful of yellow daisies on the window sill. "She came by earlier to see how I was."

Softly, Clark said, "And how are you?"

"I'm fine."

Lois swallowed and rubbed her hand over her elbow. "Where were you, anyway? You look... very," her eyelashes flickered, "...formal. I hope I didn't interrupt anything?"

Clark looked down as if just remembering he was dressed for an occasion. He touched one end of the undone bow tie between his fingers. "Oh, no. I was just...uh. I was just... out. At a thing."

He looked at her. Lois nodded. "Anywhere special?"

"Nah, not really."

Her head tilted sideways, a gesture of dissatisfaction with him that was so familiar, it was hard to believe it had been so long since he'd last seen it.

"It was just... dinner."

Her knees knocked together. She cleared her throat and mumbled, "Because. If you were on a date or something-"

"A date?" He enunciated the word so loudly that it made her wince. Clark would have laughed, but she seemed quite serious. "No, it was just a work thing."

Her forehead creased in frustration while she picked at the sheets. "Clark, you don't have to-. I mean, if you were busy, somewhere..." She sighed. "I don't want to hold you up. I appreciate you coming and everything." She found his eyes. "If you need to go, you should go."

Frowning, he returned her gaze. She lifted one shoulder.

He tried to read her and it unsettled him to find that he couldn't. "Do _you_ want me to go?"

"Do _you_ want to go?"

"I'll go if you want me to?"

She shrugged, raising her arms, they fell back to the bed again, "If you're in the middle of something..."

"I'm not, I wasn't."

"Then why are you dressed like that?" Her voice went up, belying her apparent calm, and she tensed, annoyed, biting it all back down again.

For a moment Clark swayed in his seat. He was forced to admit, "I was collecting an award."

A look of concentration settled itself on Lois's face. "What day is it today?"

She found herself under his scrutiny again. His eyes narrowed, "Sunday. How hard _did_ you hit your head?"

In a quite voice, to herself, Lois muttered, "The United Nations Correspondents Association. The awards ceremony." She gave him a quick look, "That's tonight."

Careful to temper his reaction to a stab of delight, Clark answered, "Right."

"Were you there?"

"Yes."

Her eyes were all over him. "Where is it?"

He nodded at the window, "It's held at the Hotel Royale, in Rio."

In patience, her eyes closed. "Yes. I mean where's your award?"

"I... don't have it on me."

Her suspicions increased. "When did you get here?"

He nodded to himself, inhaling a breath, "As soon as physically possible after I hung up on Jimmy."

"And when was that?"

"Uh..." he blew out the breath, checked his watch, bobbled his head, "about eight minutes ago, now." A look of uncomplicated satisfaction crossed his face as the thought came to him- "I think I must've broken my transcontinental record, actually." Then his eyebrows lowered to form one continuous line and he hit his fist flat against his chest, "And I'm pretty sure I swallowed a bug."

Lois folded her arms. "You ran out on the UNCA awards, didn't you?"

With his palm he rubbed at the back of his neck. "...I wouldn't ...put it like that, exactly."

Lois seemed to realize what she was saying. She whispered, "Oh my _God_. You _ran out_ on the UNCA awards."

"You know what? These kind of events- they're way overrated."

"What did you tell them?"

Clark looked at his hands. "I told the concierge there was a family emergency." A rueful smile twisted his lips, "You know, I hardly ever get the chance to say that."

For a moment, they were quiet. "You should get back."

They looked at each other. Hardness had returned to her face. She was unreadable again.

"Really, I mean it. Thanks for stopping by, but as you can see, I'm fine."

Clark said nothing. She swallowed. "It's just a bit of whiplash, a strained wrist, a slight concussion," her left hand wafted vaguely above the cast, "a ...small ...compound fracture..."

He stared, blue eyes shining, full of disbelief with her.

She stared back and there was an unmistakable note of defiance, of pride, in her tone when she added, "Oh, and my little toenail fell off with the bruising."

"Do you have _any idea_ how lucky you are?"

The toes of her unbroken leg wiggled, "Not that lucky; I'd only just had a pedicure."

He gave her a stern look. "When Jimmy called. The scenarios going through my mind." His voice dropped, he was softly shaking his head, "If anything had happened to you..."

"Then what, Clark?" She snapped suddenly, tired with this line of conversation. His coming here and this show of concern was all well and good- but it didn't actually change anything. "Stuff happens to me _every day_. It's just that ninety-nine percent of it isn't potentially life-threatening."

Under his reproving glare, she was forced to amend, "Eighty percent."

His eyebrow raised.

"...Sixty-five." She blinked, "...Evens."

They huffed disgustedly at each other. She said, "It's nothing to do with you. You don't need to worry." She spoke into her lap where she was worrying at the plastic tag on her left wrist. "You better get back to Rio. They'll be waiting."

His voice was strained with impatience, "No one's waiting."

Her hand flickered in the air, "Your date,"

"-I wasn't on a date."

"-she's probably wondering where the hell you are..."

"I was there on my own, I wasn't on a date! I was on my own."

Both of her fists came down hard against the mattress as frustration pulsed through her; "I _hate_ it when you do this." She scowled, "I'm a big girl, Clark! You don't need to protect me."

Clark's lips moved without sound before he found his voice, "I'm not protecting you from anything."

"_Yes_, you are."

"Protecting you from what?"

Lois phffed, impotently. "The truth!"

He was baffled. "What truth?"

"That you've got a life, a new life, away from me."

Weakly, Clark protested, "I-"

"I'm not interested in your pity!"

The room prickled into silence. Clark watched heat and anger simmer in her eyes. Her face was flushed. "I don't need it." Her voice caught on the words, "It's the last thing I need from you."

Clark was not sure whether he was more relieved it was clear she didn't want him to leave simply because she didn't care about him anymore, or hurt, by the implicit lack of faith. "Lois. I'm not here out of pity."

She was not looking at him. "Whatever you want to call it."

His voice was steady but insistent. "It's not because of pity."

She turned on him, "Do you have any idea what it feels like to have to sit across from you like this? To have to pretend it's okay that I've not seen you? In_ years,_ I've not seen you?" Her face was strained tight with emotion, "But here I am, broken and bruised, and lying in the hospital and you can't resist it. The clarion call." She ignored the pain in his eyes. "I would've given anything _anything_ to be this close to you again. Do you have any idea how small that makes me feel?" Tears were choked away. "Do you have _any idea_ how much it hurts?"

It was too much. "_Hurts_?" Clark breathed, "You want to talk to me about how much it hurts?" The expression of disbelief and then indignation writing itself across his face took Lois by surprise- "Let me tell you something, Lois. I'm _not here_ because it's fun for me to see you like this, and I'm _not here_ out of some warped sense of duty to you that only applies when you wind up in emergency care, AND, I'm _absolutely _not here out of _pity_." He spat the word in contempt. "There isn't anyone waiting for me in Rio, or Bali, or anywhere else. And yes," he continued without taking a breath, "I would say I DO know how much it hurts. I would say I have a pretty good idea. I would say it hurts about as much as it did when I turned up at your apartment two nights ago only to be told by your sister that you were off having dinner with Richard White!"

Lois shrank back, blindsided by his outburst.

Wishing he could rewind and take it all back, immediately, Clark's bottom jaw twitched. Eventually, he set it, teeth clenching in sheer frustration with himself.

Lois's face changed. Darkness left it, and the hurt and accusation in her eyes was replaced by that open look of intrigue and possibility that shone there whenever she caught the slightest hint of a story. Lightly, in wonder, she said, "It _was_ you. You told Lucy your name was Ralph."

For a half-second Clark thought about demurring, but his heart wasn't in it. He ducked and sheepishly admitted, "It's always the first thing that ever pops into my head."

One eyebrow arched. Carefully, she said, "You need a new go-to name."

He managed to expel a breath and smile- "Yes."

Lois stared at him. She felt like she was on the edge of something, like she was tantalizingly close. It was simply a matter of pressing the right buttons. And she had had it with the subtle approach. "Why were you at my apartment on Friday night?"

With its invocation, the dark presence of Richard had lodged itself firmly and uncomfortably at the back edges of Clark's mind. "It doesn't matter anymore."

"You came back? Why?"

"It was nothing important."

"Tell me why."

"It was a stupid mistake."

With more patience than she felt, Lois insisted; "Look at me and tell me _why_."

He did look at her, even though it was hard. He knew that to be honest with her in this moment, to be open and truthful, was to die an agonizing death in the silence that would follow. He steeled himself for it. "I guess I was hoping for a second chance. I guess I was too late." In a small act of heroism, he compelled a polite, wry smile that said, 'hey, no hard feelings' onto his face, and made it stay there while he waited for the axe to fall.

But there was no uneasy fidgeting, no tell tale pause or awkward preamble to the hard truth that Clark was anticipating; that he _was_ too late. That it was over.

Instead Lois said, "Are you back for good?"

She was watching him, judging whether or not she could trust her source- Clark recognized the look. He nodded. "I spoke to Perry. Norm's not doing too well, apparently."

"Is that a yes or a no?"

The flatness of her tone forced him to confront the reality of their relationship with the same clear-eyed focus. "I won't make things weird for you. You and Richard. I'll stay out of your way."

She waited. She _made_ him wait. Not because she wanted to but because she could feel hope straining in her heart and her hold on herself was tenuous. She needed to think straight and she couldn't trust herself to do that without taking her time.

She asked again, this time with more strength, "Is that a yes or a no?"

"Yes." Clark watched her eyes flutter closed.

She said, "You don't have to worry about staying out of our way. That won't be necessary. Richard's leaving town. Conrad Francis offered him Dep. Editor in Chicago."

"Wow."

"Yeah." She chuckled at his reaction, the mirror-image of her own. She touched her lips together to wet them. "He asked me if I would like to go with him."

Because it was what they had become accustomed to when dealing with each other, Lois could see that Clark was already preparing himself for the worst. He bowed his head and in full stoic-mode, he nodded, "Right. Right."

It reminded her that she was sick of it. Of all of it.

As if it was the most obvious thing in the world, she shrugged, "I said 'No'."

He looked back up and she held him there with her eyes. "He wanted to talk to me about it. That's the only reason we were out together on Friday night." With the smallest of movements she shook her head. "There's nothing between me and Richard White. There never has been. Ever since you've been gone-"

"Lois-" he cut her off, feeling keenly the same abhorrence for commiseration and pity that had so exorcised her, "You don't owe me an explanation..."

"It's not an explanation," she bit back. "You need to listen to me for once. You need to know that you're wrong." To stop her voice from quivering she took a breath; be calm, think straight. "If you mean what you say, you weren't too late. You're not too late." She swallowed, "For a second chance."

He was staring at her. She was aware that she felt physically sick with anxiety and with hope. Finally, he said, "Do you mean that?"

"The question is are we going to be honest with each other?"

"Honest?" He repeated, as if acquainting himself with the word for the first time.

"It means telling the truth- saying how we really feel instead of second guessing what we think the other person needs to hear." Maintaining a straight face, she added, "I've heard people mention it on _Oprah_ and things, I think we should try it."

"Being honest?" A smile crept into his eyes.

"Worth a shot, right?"

The smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. He nudged his head at her broken leg. "That's a _double_ compound fracture."

She couldn't stop a slow, hard won, grin, "You're such a cheater."

"I came back for you."

They looked at each other, smiles gone. She wanted to give in but he had been right all along, she was the strongest person he had ever met.

Her eyes were shining. In a low voice she said, "I went through hell for you."

"I want you back."

"You can't have me," she so much wanted to give in, but she was _damned_ if it wasn't going to be on her terms, "not if it's like it was before."

He leant forward, his head bent away from her. He pressed his hands against his knees and stood up. Unsure, Lois watched him walk away to the window.

Looking out over the city, he said, "You know. I've not been doing so well without you."

While his back was turned, quickly, she wiped at the corners of her eyes, "Come on," she scoffed, "I've read your articles, Clark. I've read every single one." She paused. "What about your award?"

He laughed humorlessly, shaking his head, "I don't mean for work. I _throw myself_ into work. I mean. As Superman."

Lines creased her forehead. "What are you talking about?"

He faced her, leaning against the sill. "The earthquake in Bolivia last week. Did you see that? The mudslides."

"I saw it."

"I nearly didn't make it. It was this close."

They gazed at each other. "I saw it."

"I gave you up. To be better at this."

Her heart pitched and ached for him. "You can't make it every time, Clark. Not even you."

His focus was somewhere else. It was not clear whether he was listening to her. "I was stuck in a meeting. I would've been there sooner, I would've been there like this," his fingers snapped, "but I was stuck in a meeting." His eyes flicked back to hers, "If I had been with you, I could've made an excuse, you would've backed me up- and I would've been there sooner."

"Or, we would have been fooling around, making," she threw up a hand dismissively, "_cheesecake_- and you would not have been there at all."

"So what was it all for? If nothing changed?" Clark moved forward from the window sill, feeling for the back of the chair and pulling it across the floor so he was sat opposite her again, but this time there was no safety zone, no distance between them. She noticed his left arm was touching the bed frame. She recalled the last time she had been this close to him. He had left her, bereft and alone. She remembered how he had looked that night. So sad, and so empty. She looked into his eyes now and they burned.

His hands moved back and forth, "Whether I'm right here, or over there, or if I'm with you, or not with you-" Desperation colored his voice, "the reason why is different but the result's still the same; I can't make it every time. You just said it yourself." He shook his head at her. "I gave you up, and the one thing that changed- _the only thing_-" he placed his hands over his chest, "is that I stopped enjoying doing this. I stopped enjoying _being me_."

Moved, Lois was speechless. She pleaded with him, "I don't know what you want me to say?"

"I thought that being apart, I thought it was the right thing to do."

Tearfully, she told him, "I know you did."

"Then why does it feel so wrong?" He shook his head. On a whisper, he said, "I'm so tired of pretending I'm not in love with you."

She gasped involuntarily. Her eyes closed as she felt the press on her heart. "I wish you wouldn't say things like that."

"I mean it," he hissed. "I'm tired of pretending that I don't spend every single minute of every single day thinking about you."

Lois looked up at the ceiling, blinking quickly in an effort to diffuse the tears. Her voice wobbled- "It's not fair..."

He continued, "What you're doing? How you are? What you think about... stupid things- everything, topical things;" one hand waved in the air as he named them at random, "global warming, ...the energy crisis, ...stem cells, skinny jeans, the new Philip Roth novel, ...manbags?"

She gave him a weak, sincere, smile. "Manbags?"

He exhaled a despairing breath. "You're in my day dreams, you're with me all the time. At night- I fantasize about you."

She shook her head crossly, "Don't-"

"I've had enough."

"-Don't start something you can't finish." They eyed each other. Her jaw was set.

He let his head drop, the spitcurl unfurling again. For a few moments he was quiet. "Lois," she heard. "There's something I've been wanting to say to you. Something I've been wanting to say ever since I left." He lifted his chin to meet her eyes.

Her breath hitched, "What?"

"Do you remember Franz Kafka's girlfriend?"

She looked lost. "What?"

"The night of the Summer Ball; do you remember telling me about Franz Kafka's girlfriend? His fiancé?"

"Yes."

"How, after everything, she ended up marrying someone else?"

Her throat worked. "Yes."

"She always kept his letters."

Lois frowned. "I'm sorry?"

"Even though she married someone else, she always kept his letters."

Lois's shoulders raised- "She probably realized they were going to be worth a fortune-"

He cut in, "-She _never _let him go."

Lois squinted at Clark. He was staring at her. She sized him up. "I see what you're doing;"

"I can't let you go. I won't." A look of determination closed in on his face- a look that was pure Superman, "Not again."

"you're using my literary break-up technique against me..."

"Marry me."

Believing she must have misheard, Lois's eyes scrunched and she shook her head to free herself of the fuzziness. "I... What?"

Clark took her left hand from where it rested on the bed and placed it between the warmth of both of his hands. A shiver ran up her spine and prickled the nape of her neck as she watched him. Without removing his eyes from hers he came forward off the chair and knelt before her. "Lois Lane." She had never seen him look so serious or so worried. "Please agree to be my wife."

Lois stared back at him, then at her hand in his, and then at him again. "Is this some kind of sick joke?"

Clark's eyebrows quirked. "No." Of the many ways he had imagined this moment, this was not a response he had anticipated. He found himself letting go of her hand, explaining, "I. I did have a ring..."

Lois rolled her lips. They were going to have this out, once and for all. "'A responsibility to mankind'? 'A duty to the world'? 'The danger of choosing one above everyone else'?" She squinted at him, swaying her head, "Any of these phrases sound familiar? I've been walking around with a gaping hole where my heart used to be ever since you've been gone because of them."

"Choosing one above everyone else? Doesn't everybody do that? Doesn't everybody have the right to do that? Don't I have the right?"

His earnestness annoyed her. "You tell me, Clark; _I_ was the one asking you to marry me three years ago, and _you_ were the one saying no."

He frowned, "I didn't think that I could have both. You and Superman. I thought I couldn't have one without compromising the other."

"Well, that's too bad," she answered honestly and hotly and without thinking too much about what it was she was saying. "Superman is who you are- I don't want some watered down version of you that's ...more convenient." She shrugged at him. "I don't want you back, Clark. Not unless I get all of you. Everything. Spit curl and cape included." As punctuation, there was the tiniest lift of her chin.

Still kneeling on the floor like a knight-errant, he regarded her. She was so _goddamn_ infuriatingly stubborn and singular and wonderful that it was all Clark could do not to get to his feet, take her head into his hands and kiss her into oblivion there and then. Steadily, he said, "That's pretty lucky because it's all I'm offering. Superman needs you. Clark needs you. All of me needs you."

She digested this news. "That is pretty lucky."

He swallowed a breath. "Will you have me?"

She scrutinized him, barely able to believe they were having this conversation. "Do you know what you're saying? This isn't going to be easy."

He ducked his head, clenching his fists, "I know. I know it will be hard. I know it's not always going to be romantic night flights over the city, and moonlit walks on a deserted island, and last minute trips to Paris- I know that. I know I'll make mistakes, and sometimes- even when you are there- I'll be stuck in a meeting and I'll be too late, and good people will get hurt." He looked up at the ceiling, sighing, "And I know that when that isn't happening, then I'll be shooting off at a moment's notice, with barely any warning, leaving you high and dry- in the middle of office parties, or lunch dates, or, or, I don't know," he blew out a small breath, allowing himself the tiniest smile, "...birthdays, anniversaries..." Her heart throbbed. His eyes closed briefly, "And I know, I _just_ know that the exact moment the kids are about to say their first word, or take their first step, _that _will be the moment some homicidal megalomaniac decides to set loose a giant killer robot..."

She felt herself melting as she smiled uncertainly at him, "Kids?"

Adorably, she thought, he squirmed. "Someday. If we're lucky."

Pulling herself together, she studied him, "This glimpse into the future, this little speech. You've put alot of thought into it."

"If you don't think I've been making some version of it to you in my head since the first day I met you," he blinked, "then you're crazy."

She laughed softly, although it didn't help ease the fear and excitement.

"I want to come home to you, Lois. Every night."

Choked with emotion, she told him, "I don't know what to say?"

He swallowed. "I've missed you so much. Just please tell me that I don't have to spend another second of my life missing you." He whispered, "Marry me. Please."

There was genuine worry in his eyes. She saw that but she said nothing. Instead she reached across to place her palms against his shoulders. Slowly, she ran her hands down the front of his lapels to curl her fingers beneath the material and pull him to her. He came easily, rising from the floor and settling on the bed next to her. Now they were level, with no more than a breath separating them. Tilting her face up to his, she closed her eyes. Very gently, she opened her mouth on his lips.

It was intended to be a short kiss. A welcome home kiss, a slow-burning 'So, we haven't done this in a while and we better take it easy' kiss, and it started out that way. But very quickly, it got hotter and more urgent and as her arms wrapped around his neck, and as she felt his hands move up along her body to cup her face, and as they pressed the kiss against the other, she found that she wouldn't mind at all if this kiss never ended.

When they broke apart, they rested their foreheads together. She stroked her fingernails down his throat to the white edge of his shirt collar while he braced his hands either side of her. In a low voice, in between breaths, she murmured, "You realize, don't you, that I'm already figuring out ways we can have sex around this cast?"

His eyes closed, he shuddered, "God, I hope that's a yes."

She laughed, "Yes!"

When they broke apart again, Lois pulled away to look at him. Her eyes clouded. "Are you sure about this?" Gently she tugged at the edges of his jacket, she shook her head, "Because I don't think I could handle losing you twice."

He put his palm to her cheek and held it there, smoothing his thumb over the skin. So unbelievably soft. She placed her own hand over his. His eyes traced every inch of her face. "Lois. I've flown through fire, I've lifted a rocket into space, I've moved entire mountains. Walking away from you was the hardest thing I've ever done." His eyebrows twitched, "I'm never letting you go again."

She sighed deeply, allowing that to sink in. It was a glorious feeling. Matching his seriousness, she said, "That's extraordinarily good to hear."

They leaned in again to exchange slow, soft, quiet kisses. She spoke into his mouth, "Is there really a ring?"

He sat back up. "I brought it to your apartment on Friday."

Her eyes danced. She bit her bottom lip. "Oh, no."

"Oh yeah," he said. "I was this close to asking for your sister's hand in marriage."

Lois struggled to contain a smile.

"I brought flowers, I was in my best suit, my glasses were off- the whole thing. Lucy opened the door and I was practically on bended knee."

Enjoying such an early opportunity to tease him, she kissed him deeply on the mouth before informing him, "That'll teach you for just showing up at random and assuming I'd be there to be proposed to."

"I was assuming nothing;" he kissed her back. "I thought it was time for a grand gesture."

"You got that right." Her hands moved up over his chest and framed his face. She rubbed the end of her nose against his. "I don't want a grand gesture, I just want you."

"I'm yours." He whispered, "You're so beautiful."

That made her laugh. "My leg is in plaster, I have stitches in my face, and I have two day-old blood caked in my hair?"

Seriously, he told her, "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"And you look really hot in a tuxedo." To underscore the point, she angled in for another kiss. "Stupidly hot." Remembering, she groaned. "You really should get back to the ceremony. I don't mind." She smiled, "I'm not going anywhere."

"Neither am I."

They nodded at each other. He reached out to tuck a wisp of hair behind her ear. He did it slowly and delicately, with the ends of his fingertips, as if afraid that if he wasn't careful, if he disturbed the spell, she would melt away and disappear like she always did in his dreams.

She was reading his mind. She rubbed her face into his hand. "This better not be the drugs."

An expression of guilt settled on his face. "You should get some sleep."

She placed a row of kisses along the heel of his palm, "I'm not tired."

"You were switching off the light when I came in."

She reconsidered. "I'm not tired anymore."

He shook his head lightly at her, "Oh, I'm going to be in so much trouble with Annette."

She chuckled. "I feel fine." Fingering his shirt at the open collar, she pulled him to her, "I feel fine for more kissing." Their mouths met, making her sigh.

Finally, he managed, "You need to rest."

"Because, you know. We already have a lot of kissing-time to catch up on." Her voice took on a scholarly, bank teller tone, "There's a serious kissing-deficit we need to re-balance."

His eyes sparkled with intent, "I'm never going to stop kissing you." Her eyelids fluttered closed as he leaned forward and placed a kiss on her cheek, then one against the line of her jaw, and then one against her neck. Against her skin, he said, "I love you."

She sighed as contentment washed over her. "I love you, too," she hummed. "So much." She ran her hands lazily up over his shoulder blades and pushed her fingers through the hair at the back of his head, "I like saying that out loud. To your face." She pressed a kiss into his ear, "I mean as opposed to just thinking it when I see you on the evening news."

She felt him smile against the crook of her neck before he tenderly kissed her there again.

When he sat back, there was a marvelled expression on his face. "I can't believe it's been almost an entire conversation and no one's robbed a bank yet."

A wry smile broke across her cheeks, "I guess the world owes us this one."

An eyebrow quirked, "I've probably just jinxed it."

She frowned, "If you need to go, just go, not back to Rio, I mean- but if someone calls." Her eyes darted across both of his, "I mean it."

A sensation of warmth and an overwhelming feeling of thankfulness just for the fact that this woman existed and that he had found her, not once but twice, saturated his heart and continued expanding outwards. In a soft, sure voice, he said, "If I need to go, I'll go. Otherwise, I'll be right here," he paused, "with you."

Her bottom lip rolled and she nodded her head in thought. "That sounds like a pretty good set-up to me. For life."

A crooked grin dimpled his face. "Me too."


	14. Epilogue

**A/N: firstly, sorry for the wait! I've spent a lot more of my free time these last few months away from my computer- which has been great for my jump shot and less so for this last little piece of the story. Thanks for hanging in.**

**Secondly, just a massive thanks to all who have commented on this story. It's been a pleasure to read your thoughts. With few exceptions, I've actively avoided reading SRfic while working on this. Now it's done I hope to go back over some of the entries I passed over and repay the compliment.**

**As for future stories, I have a couple of ideas for things but we'll see. I'm an unashamed Lois and Clark fangirl at heart and I so enjoy writing them, I'm sure I'll see you again soon.**

**Take care everyone, and thanks for reading x**

**Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

**Epilogue**

With the water running Lois sat naked on the wide ledge of the bathtub. She watched as steam clouded the little arch window opposite and filled the room with a pleasing citrussy smell. When she was satisfied with the water level she turned off the faucet and prepared for entry by leaning forward and bracing her arms either side of the tub.

"Alright, kiddo. Here we go."

Slowly, in installments, she eased herself into the water. Once settled and comfortable she reached to pick up her reading glasses and the thick set of xeroxed papers that were resting ready on the side. Leaning back, she licked her thumb, flipped the first page back over the stapled corner and from the loose bun of curls piled on her head she produced a pen so that she could begin making notes.

A relaxing soak in a warm bath plus paperwork always proved too winning a combination for Lois to resist. Even if, in practice, she was forever having to either wipe the condensation from her lenses or make sure the bottom corner of the pages didn't get too soggy. It had to be said the bump made this last part easier. Before she had read through to the end of the first page she heard the balcony doors being slid open. After a moment she heard Clark call out, "Lois! I'm home!"

Without looking up she took the end of the pen out of her mouth. "In here!"

She heard him shuffling around the bedroom, pulling and pushing the drawers of the dresser. There was a polite knock before he cracked the door open and his shoulder and head appeared. The short hairs at the back of his head stood up in uneven tufts where he'd roughly pulled off the suit. A look of worry crumpled his brow. "Everything okay?"

She dropped the notes away out the side and moved the glasses up onto her head where she replaced the pen into her hair again. "Hey, gorgeous."

He returned her smile, "Hey."

"There's some dinner in the oven. I wasn't sure what time you'd make it back."

Clicking the door behind him he held up a hand. "I ate while I was out." He leaned over, holding his arms either side of the tub so that he could dip close enough to kiss her. "Mmmm. You smell wonderful."

A smile curled against his lips. "It's Orange Flower bubble bath. According to Lucy it's very calming and relaxing and good for me."

He straightened and then arranged himself on the other side of the tub, facing her. Dark eyes sparkled back at him. Her face shined, the steamy air tinting her cheeks pink. He was not a sentimental man, he couldn't afford to be, but every so often, just lately, grace would break over him and it gave him a lump in the throat simply to look at her. Her left hand was resting on the tiled ledge and he played with her fingers. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, my back was a little achy, that's all." Her thumb rubbed across his knuckles. "Long day."

"And this one?"

Lois followed Clark's gaze to her midriff where only the very top of her stomach was exposed above bubbles. She rubbed it with both hands. "Oh, you know. The usual. Spent the afternoon perfecting his acrobatic routine in there."

"How did you get home?"

She glanced at him, a fond look settling on her face. "Jimmy drove. Escorted me right up to the door." She nodded to herself, "There were tears. And hugs. And more tears." Her voice dropped as she confided; "It was pretty emotional."

"Aw, honey. I guess that's to be expected." Clark sighed in sympathy. "Your hormones must be all over the place."

Straightfaced, she said, "Nah, that was just Jimmy."

Clark chuckled. "He knows you're coming back, right?"

"He's a sensitive soul."

They grinned at each other before Clark's eyes fell to the floor beside his legs. He picked up the sheaf of papers. "So what's this?"

Lois peered in the direction. "Oh, that? Nothing." There was a slight ripple of her shoulders. "Much."

"Looks like court transcripts." Clark flicked through the pile. "_Alot_ of court transcripts." He glanced up, his expression, like his tone, both knowing and maddeningly neutral. "From the WestCo-Barresi case."

Lois held out for a moment. Then, primly, she said, "Actually, it's everything the DOS has on the WestCo-Barresi case." She tucked a curl back behind her ear. "The early stuff is missing so someone must've had the same idea as me."

At her husband's look she cleared her throat and tossed an innocent, "What?"

"You realize your maternity leave started? To-day?"

Lois slumped back into the bubbles. She was already rolling her eyes.

"You're not on deadline anymore." Clark held up the papers, "You're not even on this story anymore."

Patiently, Lois looked up to the ceiling. "Yes, of course, I do realize that."

"I promise. I can handle this. I can completely handle this."

"Yes, this I am also well aware of,"

"Because the interesting thing about 'maternity leave' is that you get to _leave _all of the stresses and strains of regular working life behind for a little while."

"Clark."

"You see how the clue's in the title, there?"

Lois let out a frustrated little sigh and flicked the peak off a convenient mound of foam. "Clark-"

"Of course I understand that the concept of taking it easy is one you have trouble," he paused, "...coming to terms with-"

She cut him off testily, "People aren't going to stop breaking the law and trying to get away with it just because I'm having a baby."

He returned her glare with a level gaze, "That's not my point, and you know it."

She knew he was right. She hunched her shoulders in explanation. "It's nothing, it's background, it's just a little light reading." Her eyes creased at the corners- "To help you."

He leant his elbow on the ledge and rested his chin against the palm of his hand. "You know. There's a word for you."

She found her loofah bath mitt in the water and fiddled at it with her thumbs. "I can't not be doing something, Clark."

"Actually." He lifted his eyebrows, considering her. "There are many words."

"I'll go crazy."

"But the one that springs to mind most readily right now is;"

"I'm not asking for the wind. I just can't be sat at home, baking cookies, practicing my needlework, waiting for Junior to make his grand entrance-" she looked up, exasperated, "I'm not that person."

"'Insuperable'."

"And anyway, you're a fine one to talk," Lois continued, gathering her own, irresistible, momentum.

The fingers underneath Clark's chin straightened, "Luckily, I already know this."

"'Taking it easy,'" she scoffed. "You know the only time I ever see you taking it easy?" She pointed: "When you're asleep."

"That's why I requested the 1974 records a week ago."

"And I'm not even kidding, Clark. Take today. One second I'm talking to you about leader lines, the next you're on tv fighting fires on coffee plantations in Africa." She stopped to take a breath and it allowed her thought processes to catch up with her mouth. Her brow lowered. "What?"

He held up the papers. "_I_ requested the missing files. I signed them out a week ago."

"You did?"

He let out a long breath as he reached over to trace his thumb along the delicate line of her cheek. "I promise you, I can handle this." The intense look in his eyes softened as he smiled crookedly at her. "...But I thought you might like to do a little light reading?"

"Are you serious?"

He shrugged, "I have a manila envelope this thick waiting just for you. Now you have the whole set to work your way through."

Lois squeaked, "Oh, _Clark._"

His hand rubbed at the back of his head. "I was not anticipating you making a start on your first night off."

They looked at each other. "You really are a very good husband."

"I know."

"That's just the most thoughtful thing."

"I know."

"Just when I think I couldn't possibly love you anymore than I already do..." she trailed off, her forehead puckering, "And then you make me want to throw myself at you."

"State bankruptcy records," Clark mused, folding his arms along the edge of the tub and resting his head there. "Let no man say I don't know the way to my wife's heart."

She nodded at him thoughtfully. "It's times like these I think we should call in to one of those gameshows couples compete on." Her eyes narrowed- "We could win big."

He deadpanned, "Let's not get carried away."

She chuckled, grinned at herself, at them, at him. A watery finger went to lift the curl off his face. "Anyway. How was your day?" Her head tilted, "Everything okay with you?"

It took about a second for her to read the expression in his eyes and for her face to drop. She flopped back into the water, offering a weary, "Oh, Lord," to the ceiling.

"What?"

"It's your Good news/Bad news face."

With a circumspection that did not aid his cause, he protested, "No, it's not."

"Yes, it is, Clark- I can tell." Pained, she closed her eyes. "I just watched the latest report, I thought the situation was under control?"

"It was. It is."

She sighed heavily looking at him. "I thought local authorities were involved now- I thought you stopped the fire?"

"I did," he agreed, scratching at a spot just under his ear. "That's ...really the problem."

He was met with an expectant gaze. A couple of seconds went by. And then he folded. "You want the good news or the bad news?"

A clenched fist broke the water. "I knew it."

"The good news is I was able to put the fire out before it got to either the village settlement or the harvest crop."

Lois nodded wide, encouraging, circles, in broad agreement that that was indeed Good News; "...Good."

Clark's head bent to one side. "The bad news is, according to tradition, in the process," in a breath, very fast, he explained, "I may have betrothed myself to the King's eldest daughter."

Lois shook her head lightly. "I'm sorry. What?"

"I betrothed myself to the King's eldest daughter."

She nodded once. Clark fluttered a hand in the air. "Something to do with rewarding, you know, a great act of goodwill."

She nodded again. "Betrothed yourself."

"Yes."

"Okay."

"It's an ancient Ankozi tribal thing. Apparently."

"I see."

He thumbed backwards, "Remember that conversation about a second ago? About what a good husband I am?"

"Clark Kent: bigamist." Lois clucked. Her eyebrows raised, her voice became wistful, "Now there's three words I didn't think I'd ever say."

Clark's face scrunched. "Well, I hardly-"

"Or should it be 'polygamist'? Bigamy/polygamy?" She singsonged as her hand waggled in theatrical fashion;

Clark opened his mouth.

"I'm a little sketchy on the difference."

"If you practice bigamy, then by definition-"

She turned to him, voice low and serious, "Hey, if it gets down to it and I have to husband-share, I call dibsies for weeknights, seasonal holidays, and special occasions, okay?"

He stared at her. "Dibsies."

Giving it some thought, her mouth quirked and she bobbed her head. "Although I am prepared to negotiate on laundry duties."

He rested his hands on the lip of the tub again. His thumbs lifted, "You don't seem to be taking this very seriously."

Her lips touched. "I'm eight and a half months pregnant and you're announcing your shotgun engagement to a Tanzanian princess." She frowned interestedly, "Do you really want to define the limits of my sense of humor threshold at this point?"

"Technically, I'm not sure it's bigamy if the ...marriage arrangement takes place without the intended's consent. Or, you know. Knowledge."

"Ah, you're saying you were _entrapped_."

With patience, Clark continued, "As I respectfully but firmly explained to my prospective father-in-law, bride-to-be, and the rest of the extended family and assorted well-wishers, I'm saying that despite being _extremely_ flattered, I would be seeking an immediate end to the engagement. And that in my line of work a simple 'Thankyou' is really thanks enough." He stared at her before amending, "Although, I did add that if they were fixed on some kind of formal token of appreciation, I know someone that could really go for a couple of bars of the dark chocolate they produce as part of their portfolio."

"And how did that go?"

Clark nodded at the door. "There's about a year's supply out there. They also sent me back with some packets of the house blend we had with dessert."

An amused smile tugged at her lips. "You stayed for dinner, then?"

"It seemed the polite thing to do."

"And I'M insuperable."

Playfulness left his tone as he caught her with that look again. Simply, he said, "You're wonderful."

She leaned forward, rested her elbow on the edge of the tub and held her chin in her hand there. Her eyes moved over his face. "So no new Mrs Kent on the horizon?"

Clark paused, moved in closer to mirror her posture. His voice dropped. "I'm pretty much set with the Mrs Kent I've already got."

Even as she was rolling her eyes, their mouths met in a tender kiss. She mumbled, "You're so smooth."

His lips moved against hers, "Even if she is an apologetic workaholic."

"That's so unfair-"

He murmured, "You're reading office paperwork in the bath."

She was grinning, "-there's absolutely nothing apologetic about it."

They pulled away. With the tips of her fingers she combed the spit curl back through his hair. "And anyway. I think the correct term is 'devoted to her calling.'"

"I think the correct term is 'relentless crusader in the name of Truth and Justice.'" His brow creased. "I think I read that somewhere..." She shook her head softly at him. His eyes glinted, "Your high school year book."

She was quiet for a moment. Softly, she said, "I guess it takes one to know one."

They kissed again. When they broke apart Lois sighed heavily, her eyes were shining. "Oh. This kid's just going to have no chance, is he?"

"With these genes?" Clark shook his head. "Louie's already taking bets on when he gets his first byline."

She smiled. "I went over-under on his eighth birthday."

"_Eighth _birthday?"

Lois nodded, "The Young Cubs junior section counts- I checked." They chuckled throatily until one of Lois's eyebrows raised. "Actually. That reminds me. I've got something to show you."

With a matching expression, Clark moved closer. "Oh yeah?"

She tsked in admonition. "An actual thing." Something played across her face. "A leaving present. From Perry. It's on the bed."

"Shall I go get it?"

At her nod Clark got to his feet and went to find it. Lois called after him, "In the bag."

When he walked back into the bathroom he was carrying an oblong object wrapped in blue tissue paper. It was heavy. "Do you know what it is?"

He sat down next to Lois again. She peered over so she could watch him. "It's a gift for the baby."

"Not another one?"

She nodded.

"That man," Clark chided as he began to peel away the paper. A long, ebony, prism shape was revealed. Lois turned her attention from Clark's hands to his face. A broad grin broke out there and he gave a delighted chuckle. "Oh my gosh. Look at that."

"It's pretty cool, right?" She whispered back.

Clark ran his thumb over the grooved brass lettering of the name plate.

"I don't care that he doesn't have a desk yet," Lois said. "I don't even care if it turns out he has no interest in a career in anything that has to do with a desk- that's going in his nursery."

Clark read out, "Jason Lane-Kent."

A fluttery thump in her abdomen startled her, "Oh!" She pressed her hands to her sides and grinned back at Clark. "You called?"

"Hi baby!" Clark rose up onto his knees and wiped away a patch of soap suds from the skin of her stomach so that he could stretch right over the stall and place a kiss there. Then he kissed Lois on her forehead. "How about a back rub?"

"Och, that would be great," Lois cooed. She removed her reading glasses from her head and reached over to drop them back on top of the papers. "I'll finish up."

She stopped feeling around for the bath plug when she realized Clark was undressing. She watched him. "What are you doing?"

Having discarded his tee shirt Clark was unbuttoning the fastener on his jeans. "I'm getting in there with you guys."

"No, no. I'm getting out," she advised. "The water's going cold."

His jeans were coming off. "I'll be real quick."

"My skin is starting to prune."

But he was already clambering into the water, his instep touching her waist either side, "As good a raisin as any not to waste time."

She giggled as he slid in behind her, his long legs struggling to find space to unfold. "Clark!" She shrieked when his toes brushed the underside of her ribs, tickling her. "C'mon. You know there's not enough room!"

A wave of soapy water sloshed over the side when Clark's left foot broke the surface and dangled in the air as he tried to angle it into a less cramped position. "There is if you scoosh forward a little."

"I _am_ scooshed," Lois insisted. "There's no more space in which for me _to_ scoosh. Clark! Remember the candle incident! Oof!" His heel caught her shin. "Jeez. You're all knees and elbows!"

For a while there was a lot of breathless cursing and splashing and toing-and-froing. Finally, by both leaning forward simultaneously, enough leeway was created for Clark to stretch out. Now that they were comfortable again Lois could relax back against him.

He folded his arms around her. "See?" She felt him shrug. "Plenty of room."

Lois grunted. "That time we spent five rounds trapped inside the trunk of Assemblyman Breuer's golf cart was more spacious than this."

He pressed a kiss into the waves of her pinned up hair. "It's cosy."

Lois sat back up, looking around. "I've lost my loofah."

Clark listed to one side so he could remove something prickly that had been digging into the small of his back. He put the loofah into her hand. "I was wondering what that was."

She snuggled back into him again, allowing her body to come to rest flush against his.

He began to run his fingers up and down her arms and she hummed in pleasure, just enjoying the moment, the soft sound of their breathing, the peace.

"As good a raisin?"

In response he smiled against the skin of her shoulder.

"Man. You're such a dork." She addressed her baby bump, "Daddy's a dork, Jason!"

"It's fun to pun."

"It's fun to do alot of things."

"My thoughts exactly." Clark's mouth began tracing a line up to her ear. "I guess it's a good job you've got a thing for geeks."

"No." She turned her head so that they were nose-to-nose. "Just for you."

Tenderly, she opened her mouth on his, twisting round to touch one hand to the back of his head and run her fingers through his hair. He pulled her closer, enveloping her in the circle of his arms while they kissed. His hands were all over her as she began to work her way down the line of his jaw and he felt hot breath against his neck when she growled, "Now am I going to get my back rub, or what?"

Reluctantly Clark stopped what he was doing. One eyebrow raised. "I bet my other wife wouldn't be this demanding."

Lois eyed him while she shook her head. "I can't believe you just played the other wife card." She shrugged matter-of-factly. "You've forced my hand."

Catching him off-guard she began scrabbling her fingertips over his ribcage.

"A _tickle_ fight?" He looked down, watching her hands in amusement. "Seriously?"

"What?" Her face was set in concentration. "Afraid you're going to lose to a pregnant lady?" She changed her angle of attack to right underneath his armpits. "That it?"

"Oh, honey," he lamented. "Lose?" The look in his eyes turned dangerous: "When there's about fifty percent more of you for me to tickle."

Her indignant squeal was stifled with giggling as he retaliated by pulling her down on top of him with one arm and using his free hand to feather-brush his fingertips over the sensitive skin at the base of her spine.

Giggling turned into more kissing and Lois's enthusiasm to break free subsided gently away. Thoughts of the tickle-fight were replaced by the pleasure of Clark's hands moving over her skin and were interrupted only when, without breaking contact with his lips, she lifted herself off him, removed the loofah from where it had lodged itself against her hip and threw it out the side.

The glass in the bathroom window above started to steam again.


End file.
